Blah...

Rain falls incesantly, weighing down my dusty heart with heaven's weary tears. The whole world is crying today. The air is sticky like dog's breath and everything smells like pickle juice. In the evening, aged women pound unyielding pavement with the anger of their pent up lives, marching towards dawn where another day of homely servitude awaits. The roar of liberated children fills every ear; exam week is over. The teacher next to me closes his eyes and rest his head on the worn desk, exhausted from yet another late night of lesson planning. Like an upright child bobbing in and out of approaching sleep, the man occassionaly surfaces, supporting himself on one arm and willing himself to work. But he is no match for gravity--evetually his eye lids will fall again and the desk will welcome him once more.

This is Korea.