Someone is knocking on a nearby hotel room door with an implement. The sound is metallic, hollow, and I can’t help but think louder for me than the intended recipient.
A yellow dust from China descended on Korea, a dust obscuring Seoul after a rainfall forecast to clear out pollution. I’m told it’s an annual event, the yellow dust.
I settled up the hotel bill for my most recent two weeks in residence. It’s like a fortnightly rent payment, a clearing of the balance sheet, a zeroing out. It’s nice.