Sundays

Alex and I have taken to walking for literally hours on Sunday afternoons. Sporting a camera and our sparse knowledge of the city and the language, we navigate through the maze of downtown Gwangju. We wander quiet stretches with vendors pushing squid, through concentrations of schoolgirls crushed onto narrow streets to scream at a beautiful celebrity, and past trendy fashion stores blaring American hardcore rap. 

Waiting for the subway.

 We sit. We have iced green tea lattes. We try to blend in, and we fail.

I feel like I ought to be doing more than being pale and tallish to attract such attention. If only I was a contortionist, or maybe I could engineer balloon animals, or perhaps, just blend in. I do not do any of these things, although I think I could make a mean giraffe some day.

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