윤

It’s been too long a day, so the details are all gone, like the one where 할머니 was a surprisingly able rider, even on the old 1100, though she didn’t quite make her last running start and let the bike fall on its side ahead of her. I was a single man again, a prisoner in a two-room ground floor home in a community very much like Patrick McGoohan’s with a curfew announced over a loudspeaker in the evening. I wasn’t so much making a break for it, but I did want to take a walk, so I ditched the surveillance when the opportunity arose behind noisy neighbors.

Tagged family, The Prisoner, work