These are a strange lot. I see them now and again, though some days they're everywhere. They don't talk. They take no time to throw. They don't react to their shots. They don't laugh or smile or swear or frown. They don't look around at nature; their heads are down. No celebrating good putts. They pick up the disc and move on. Usually in pairs, sometimes threes. They just shamble and ooze from one throw to the next, like they're serving some wretched purgatory sentence. Or are they actually so enlightened that I can't comprehend their mastery of the moment?