Supplement 2 to Article 8: THE BATHROOM

Milk Milk was a pretty upscale bar. Quite. Private. With two stories and a very nice atmosphere.

Even the bathrooms were upscale. The urinals were, oddly, filled with ice. That's interesting and great and all, but if you've ever tried to pee on a pile of ice at waist height, you find that there's a whole lot of splash-back. As much as I normally like peeing on myself, I could have done without it. Maybe I'll like it better once I get the hang of peeing on ice down.

When I finished peeing on myself, a man came out of the nice big comfortable stalls and was started. He spoke to me in Korean and when I answered in Korean, he had the same question that most Koreans do: where are you a student?

See, students are generally the only westerners that bother to learn Korean here.

When I told him I wasn't and that I was a teacher close-by, he asked where I was from. When I told him, he told me that he had spent three years in Brazil. I wasn't sure why he was telling me. Maybe it's because he thought I would be pleased that we had spent time on the same hemisphere. I don't know.

When he laughed, I washed my hands and watched TV in the mirror. A tiny TV, even showing subtitles was fixed right in the center, right in front of my face when I was washing up. I suppose this was in case I got bored while I was washing my hands.

I tidied up a bit, and then walked back to my private room to sit down with my gangster friend and our pretend prostitutes.