Can I even answer the question without injecting petty complaints and oversimplified prejudices into my words? Dare I even try? It’s a city built for a certain kind of person: businessmen in need of a drink and some karaoke after work will not encounter difficulties. I went for a walk last night after yet another inordinately strange day—an inexplicable exhaustion completely overpowered me; I napped as though buried sideways in a blue shaft grave—and on this walk I explored new territory near my apartment, but I found the same story as always: bar, furniture store, kitchen store, clothing store, bar, noraebang (“your own private karaoke”), gas station, drugstore, apartment building, supermarket, bar, noraebang, bar, noraebang…again and again and again. A few blocks of the city represent most blocks: the bakeries all sell the exact same bread. I’ve lived here for almost six months, so I expected that; I only left my room to escape cabin fever, loneliness, and stir-craziness. Six months remain here; when the time ends, I’ll dart away in a flash, and leave only a cloud of dust—sparked, of course, with lightning.