50/49
Fifty days in the land of the morning calm. Forty nine nights in a city that breathes like a dragon. Forty eight days drinking cold coffee from cans. Forty seven nights without an Australian radio station. Forty six days stepping over puddles of spittle in the street. Forty five nights with a mosquito and a ceiling fan buzzing in my ears. Forty four days crossing roads and counting seconds till the lights change. Forty three nights eating dinner alone in a city where everyone else eats in large and noisy groups. Forty two days staring up at a sky of a different blue. Forty one nights staring at holes in the bottom of empty soju glasses. Forty days in which the season is on the verge of turning. Thirty nine nights where old men sit in the park on newspapers. Thirty eight days as humid as bowls of bubbling soup. Thirty seven nights watching Koreans dreaming on the subway. Thirty six days thinking about my faraway family. Thirty five nights like revenue stamps from the immigration departm