[Ed. Note  This story contains profanity and content that some may find offensive.  Please do not continue reading if you think you might be one of these people.]

   HIS DAY started not much unlike any other day in Pusan during the rainy season in a 3 room house with no air-con. He opened his eyes at 7:43, nearly one hour after he'd set his rooster-voice alarm clock; a gift from his boss at the shoelace factory following his repeated tardies. He awoke on a chair in the living room as his mother-in-law began tidying up the place as she did every morning. He despised living with her, but loved that she did all the chores. He ignored her as usual, then noticed a 'This' cigarette butt still in his hand and a small hole burned in his best pair of plaid slacks. He attributed that tiny event as casting a shadow on his day, the magnitude of which he could never have imagined. His wife came in next with a silent yet thunderous expression of displeasure at his continuous nights of drinking with friends. He ignored her as well. Then she started in. She told him that he stank of another woman's perfume, as well as the usual soju. It was true. He had indeed met his mistress the previous night, but hadn't slept with her. Of course, he had tried to sauce her up and steal her away, but she had jumped in a taxi while his back was turned. Normally, on mornings following intercourse with his mistress, he'd feel guilty and just let his wife rant and rave for a while before he left for work. But, on this particular morning, he'd technically done nothing wrong the night before. So he lashed back. He told his wife that she was ugly, fat, and wholly incompetent for not giving him a son as his first-born child. Despite this, she prepared him the traditional korean hangover cure; a bowl of bean-sprout soup and rice for breakfast. She watched him eat in silence with an exaggerated scowl on her still soft, 33 yr old Korean face. As his 5 yr old daughter awoke and prepared to get shuttled to a music hagwon called 'Young Geniuses', he scurried out the door right on time to be 10 minutes late for work ...

  MY DAY started not like any other day during Pusan's rainy season in a 3 room house with no air-con. My handphone rang and I opened my eyes at 7:43am in the middle of my living room floor, naked with the fan blasting on me. I had set my Somyon-underground-special-8000won alarm clock for 7, but it never went off. With a fuzzy brain, I first reached for the alarm clock, then realized it was my convenient, satellite, cellular, link to the world which had been creating that awful, incessant, audio chafe. I rolled over to free my other ear and knocked over an ashtray spilling stinky 'ThisPlus' butts all over the already beer-stained linoleum beneath me. "For fuck sakes!", I moaned to myself and unintentionally into the open PCS-P-SUV-SHIT unit. "What?" I recognized Smiley, my hagwon director, by his voice. "Cupcakes?...is that what you said?" "No, Smiley, nevermind" I dismissed him. "Good morning. Did you forgot today is new morning lesson? How long time you take to come?" My brain began coming to life and dragging me back to the place that my body didn't yet want to go. Smiley was a dork, and I regretted ever accepting his part-time job offer and telling him my handphone number. I contemplated his request for time related information; coffee, cigarette, shower, shave, lesson preparation, cigarette, leave ... 30 minutes, I thought to myself. I looked at the clock. I was already 15 minutes late and it was a 7 minute ride to the institute by autobike traveling at roughly twice the speed limit. I would have to amend my morning routine; coffee, cigarette, Uno, cigarette, leave. "Hello? Hello? How long time you take to come?" he said again and the bizarro semantics of the question struck me. "How long time I take to come?" I repeated with a grin. "Smiley, you sound like a Thai hooker with an ass rash and no money." "Yes, yes," he said, "I have your money after class, okay? Please come kickly!" ...click...

I dropped that cursed contraption and reached for my pack of butts. Empty. "Fuck me!" It was at that moment that I saw a bad day about to unfold, the magnitude of which I could never have imagined. I picked through the previously enjoyed leftovers strewn about me and found one with a solid 4 drags left in her. I hacked her down wondering if it qualified as a 'ThisMinus'. I stood up and my head seemed to bounce harshly around the room before sinking back down to the floor. I was hung. Pieces of the previous night's festivities began trickling back into my memory; Erica's going-away party, draft beer, then tequila, soju under an orange tent in Somyon, a broken camera, an argument with a taxi-driver about taking 5 of us to the Dallas squeezed into one cab, kissing and fondling Erica in that dank, dirty, basement inappropriately named a 'club', then all hopes of nailing her one last time shattered as her drinks and in-between snacks came tumbling back up and out in a puddle at her feet in the alley outside.

I made it to the kitchen sink and splashed some water on my face, then just about puked from the vision of Erica losing it combined with the odor of stale cigarettes on my index and middle fingers. Washed my hands. Brushed my teeth. Whipped up a cold coffee from the insto-pack. Opened the fridge ... "Buy some fuckin' milk, will ya?!" I pleaded with that part of me that keeps promises, arrives on time and tells the truth to girls. Deodorant. Found a shirt that stunk less than the other ones in the pile in the corner. I grabbed Uno, then remembered that this was a class of mothers and university students and I'd best prepare myself accordingly. But the box says, 'Fun for the whole family'. Why not. Backpack, helmet, shades, out the door, down the stairs, past the miserable rat dog that ALWAYS yips at me despite the fact that it's seen me walk through that gate every day for 5 months. I paused for a second to give it a hate-filled sneer. Then a contented smile as I replaced the old desire to shoot it to death with those little white plastic pellets with a new plan whereby I take it up on one of those pedestrian overpasses and drop-kick it into the center of a rotary to be squished by the 24hr-a-day, multi directional traffic...

  AS HE reached his small white sedan, parallel parked in the alley, he noticed that his side mirror had been reconfigured in a small, sparkling pile of shards beside his driver's door. He cursed those fuckin' drunk bastards in his neighborhood who were always breaking stuff in the streets during the wee hours. Then he realized that he himself may have, in fact, been the perpetrator. He raced to work the same way he always went, calling other motorists 'dog-babies' and traffic lights 'motherfuckers'. His boss was gonna bust his balls, but he'd concoct an excuse for oversleeping and brag about being out late bangin' his mistress in some no-re-bang bathroom stall and then it'd be all good ...
 

  I FIRED up the black VF125cc 'autobike' made famous by it'sworkhorse-like ability to transport up to 5 propane tanks orother miscellaneous goods stacked higher than the rider's head. I set off into the already bustling traffic of Pusan and pushed myli ttle black horse to the RPM redline with every shift of the gears. I took the same route that I always did except traffic was a bit heavier than at 3pm when I usually started class at the hagwon. I took the sidewalk near my house to avoid the backed-up traffic on that narrow stretch of roadway. Slowed and ran through one crosswalk, then blasted full throttle through the next one. An illegal left at the rotary, then weaving in and out of slower cars like one of those crazy, helmetless, high-school kids on the bikes with multi-colored lights in the wheels, raised rear suspension, and the 'Dukes of Hazzard' horn. I got on that windy, hilly street that served as a nice shortcut from Allak-Dong to PNU area and opened her up a bit more. I have no idea exactly what the speed limit is anywhere in Pusan. Never really cared...
 

  HE CRUISED and cursed up and down that windy, hilly street where the shop was located. Finally, he got to the small hill where he had to turn left into the shoelace factory parking lot. That street always had a steady flow of motorists in the morning. He waited impatiently facing up the hill and prepared to make a quick left across the lane of the drivers coming over and down the incline. He saw his window of opportunity as a lone motorcyclist crested the hill and sped downward towards him. He knew he could make it. He heard the motorcyclist's horn as he cranked the steering wheel and jumped on the gas. He would've made it...would've whipped across the rapidly approaching and honking motorcyclist's path ...would've scooted smoothly into his little victory circle and began to create his fantasy/excuse about hammering his mistress while she bent over the urinal squealing with mock resistance ... would've ... had it not been for the previously unseen vehicle preparing to exit the parking area. The entrance to the parking lot was only wide enough for one car. The other car hadn't been there when he glanced over just 30 seconds before. He stopped his progress across the oncoming traffic's lane, and before you can say 'doppler effect', the motorcyclist's steady hornblast stopped just as a loud thump sounded and jarred his little, white, 4 cyl pride and joy ...
 

  I'D GUESS I was doing about 60kph in a 30 as I crested that hill and first saw the white car waiting to make his left across and in front of me. Initially, he wasn't in my lane, but I could see that his front wheels had already angled toward the side of the street opposite him. I knew what he was waiting to do, but thought he'd wait 'til I passed by to make his turn. I got on the horn as he quickly and suddenly made his move across my lane. I wasn't even phased cuz shit like that happens every day while driving in this city. I figured he'd continue into the entrance or wherever he was going, and that I'd narrowly miss his tail end as I passed behind him cursing him and blasting my horn. It happened so fast that I barely had time to apply the brakes fully. I was flying down that little hill. He stopped dead in front of me. I was thoroughly surprised by the impact. Dirty inertia carried me through the air and over his car in the direction of my hagwon...
 

  HE QUICKLY glanced over his right shoulder and saw the black autobike stuck to his right rear door in a perfect T-shape, then back over his left shoulder just as the helmeted figure slammed to the asphalt, bounced on his back, and rolled to a stop about 5 meters downhill from his car. His first instinct was to flee. His insurance had already gone up following 2 minor accidents and a drunk driving arrest. Plus it looked like the motorcycle driver had hit pretty hard and may even be dead. Two things happened at that instant which brought him back to the reality of responsibility; he remembered that he was stopped in the lane of oncoming traffic in front of his place of employment with a crumpled autobike stuck to the right rear side of his car, and the helmeted rag-doll-like figure was up on all fours. He jumped out of the car and ran to him ...

  I REMEMBER rolling a few times before popping up onto allfours in the middle of the street. I knew exactly what had happened, knew I was okay (at least nothing broken), knew I had to get up and out of the street, but my lower half felt traumatized. I just wanted to catch my breath there in the street for a moment. I noticed the blood on my finger and that I was heaving laboriously instead of breathing. Next thing I knew ...
 

   HE WAS thankful the rider was moving and breathing. He grabbed him by one armpit and helped him slowly out of the street. He kept asking him if he was okay, but no words came from behind the helmet and sunglasses. Just as the figure began to remove the headress, he shouted "we-guk!...hangul-mal mot-heyo!" If he'd ever gasped a more sincere 'ayi-go', this was it ...

   I FELT some guy grabbing me under the arm and pulling me up andover to the side of the street and asking over and over again in Korean if I was okay. I speak enough hangul-mal to respond, but I was still stunned and panting heavily. I ascertained that he must have been the rocket scientist responsible for this mess. I wanted the fuckin' idiot to shut up already, so I whipped off the shades and helmet with the hand that wasn't bleeding. I shouted, ' I'm a WE-GUK!', as his eyes popped open widely and he retreated from being in my face ...
 

  HE REALIZED that the figure was, in fact, a chubby, balding, white guy with quite a look of discomfort. He stepped back fearing that the rider might catch him with a retaliatory whack in the face, but then he noticed that the we-guk was shaking from the waist down and having difficulty standing. Blood was also dripping from a gnarly gash on his finger ...

   MY LEGS started quivering beneath me, so I sat down, then layed down. I felt faint and really thirsty. I asked for water in hangul-mal. The driver kept talking about going to the hospital, but I just needed more time to collect myself ...

  HE REMEMBERED the English word 'hospital' from his middle school english class and kept repeating it to the we-guk. The cops drove by and asked if they were needed. He told them that it was a minor accident and that he'd handle it. The cops drove off. The we-guk sat down, then laid down, moaning and asking for some water.

  I NOTICED that the cops stopped, then drove away before I could even think about doing anything. Then it hit me. Fear. I'd had that bike for 3 months. Been whippin' around town with no registration, no insurance, no international license, and basically no respect for any traffic laws. It had never been an issue before. I had the title, had the previous owner's license plate still affixed, and had a plan every time the cops stopped me. I played stupid. Said it was my friend's bike and that my license and passport were at home. But now I'd found myself in much deeper doo-doo. I hadn't signed Smiley's contract yet, hadn't gotten my work visa, had no alien registration card, and was strictly teaching illegal private lessons with the occasional slave-like hagwon gig if I had extra time ...and all on a tourist visa. I was scared shitless. My bike was dead, finger drippin' blood, hip numb, knee felt like it had hyper-extended far enough to kick myself in the chest, and some rubberneckin' businessman started squawkin' about how fast I was going. I hobbled over to the other side of the car to assess the damage. I thought for sure that I'd be expected to compensate him for the huge dent in his right rear door. I figured that that was it ...

  HE RAN and got a bottle of water. A woman with a baby stopped to gawk and view this we-guk quite possibly on his deathbed. The businessman instantly stuck up for his fellow Korean and began shouting about how fast the we-guk was going. After about 30min., the  we-guk got to his feet and wobbled over to examine the bike and car. The crazy fuckin' we-guk actually managed a smirk while assessing the damage. The businessman began poking his nose in business not his own, and suggested that the damage to each vehicle cancel out. But the driver was still nervous. Nervous that the 100kilo we-guk still might snap back to pissed-off reality and crack him one, or that he might sue him down to his daughter's new shoes. After all, he'd read newspaper articles about American's suing for millions following hot coffee spills in fast-food drive-thrus. This we-guk's bike was demolished, his finger dripping blood, and his hips and legs shaking and wobbling like Elvis on crack ...

  I THOUGHT they'd take away all my money, kick me in my bad knee, and ship me back to America where I could reek my ugliness on my fellow countrymen...