Later that night

I wouldn't get used to this torrid posting pace, but I'm at the PC bang tonight because I went out for galbi and drinks with some colleagues, and I agreed to have a drink with Slim Delacroix (SD) mostly because he is funny as hell and cool, and he usually doesn't let me hang out with him. We were having a gay old time (in the archaic sense of the word) talking about art and travelling and girls when my cell phone buzzed. It was long distance. It was a guy speaking perfect English and asking for me by both names. I was terrified. Have they found me?? I stammered "wrong number" and hung up.

SD sprung for most of the bill, which shocked me since I thought he was a chiseller, and wouldn't take any money despite my treble protest. I put my things in the apt. and immediately hoofed it over here where I've been researching the phone number, writing this monstrosity and waiting for Gandhi McRae (GM) to write back. It was either him or my parents who gave out the number, and I need to nip this in the bud if it's nipping that's needed. By aye!

PS - I am typing this at twenty after 5 in the morning behind 3 immaculately coiffed young women playing KartRider for their kicks after boozing on a Saturday night. Think about that. Korean lessons time!