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Six and a half years ago, blazing hot Korean summer, almost dancing through the Mangwondong outdoor market on the way to the hospital to see my one-day old second daughter, listening to this on my Walkman. Seems like yesterday
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Standing on my second floor back porch at night with a beautiful red haired and green eyed girl who was my first crush after moving to my new city shortly after dropping out of college.
We kissed.
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Wandering into the industrial-size kitchen at Cloyne Court in Berkeley, the 156-capacity student co-op where I lived ‘91-‘92. The dinner crew had hoisted a couple of massive, banged-up speakers atop a refrigerator, blasting this. I still see the speakers, the dirty dishes, smell the soap suds in the sink and the mildewing dishtowels. I’d never dreamed someone could feel as bad as I did right then. Someone did.
