When the fuck will I stop dreaming that I’m still in school? 윤대섭 and I were sharing a small room with flattened carpeting, and I realized I was late to class, took my backpack with one hand and a stack of books with the other, but not before his students began arriving and asking each other if I was his son. No time to look up directions—I had been to the first session so only a vague idea which direction to take on campus would have to do. There were several elevators in the building, and the nearest one open had filled fast; the up and down indicators lit above another across the hall, and I ran for it. Running always seems to require an unrealistic amount of effort (no doubt mirroring the bleak future that is come), but in this unusual case it produced the desired result and the nice old woman at the front of the passengers inside welcomed me. Half the service-sized large compartment was unoccupied, and I walked to the back and knelt against the wall on the empty left side to sort my things. An irascible gentleman who resembled Sean Bean in a red wig and black suit approached and told me that the space was reserved for riders with strollers, despite my taking up very little of it, not to mention a place closer to the others. It should have been quite clear from the expression I returned that he was free to go fuck himself.
Leave a Reply