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About Gwangju

Last time, this bird—pro masseuse—had hands like velvet. Worked my neck, and I’m moanin’ like a wanker. “The town’s gone mad,” I mutter, quotin’ Béla Tarr’s flick. She’s confused, but keeps goin’. Felt like a secret agent unravelin’—in a good way. Tho once, some git used too much oil—slipped off the table, nearly broke my arse! Pissed me right off—ruined my suave vibe.

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So, I’m on the street, and it’s hot. Like, sweat-dripping-down-my-back hot. I’m walking down Jungang-ro, and there’s this street vendor selling tteokbokki. I couldn’t resist. I mean, who can? Spicy rice cakes? Yes, please! I grab some, and they’re so good. But then, I spill some on my shirt. Great. Now I look like a walking food disaster.

Court hands partial victory to Sewol sinking survivors