SubscribeAren't all epistolary novels technically second-person narratives?
You were in Pusan.
When you flew in, the port was hidden by cloud. You couldn't see the city at all, only the tops of mountains. The man to the right of you, a Korean, said, "Ha! That's smog. Smog! Not so pretty now, huh? Smog! Ha-ha! Ha-ha! Smog!" He went on laughing to himself as he picked up his paper again and read some more. You were still working for that investment bank, were there to find out why a container ship was behind schedule. You had been told it would probably be necessary to make an example of someone, that you should determine who.
And when you landed, it was drizzling, grey. The whole city was grey. Built of concrete and iron, built for building. You couldn't see very far down the streets in that rain that was almost a mist. Through the haze the odd red or green punched - neons, traffic lights, trashcan fires. But that was all. On the way from the airport to the hotel and the next morning from the hotel to the office, you became completely disoriented. You tried to follow your route on the map your girlfriend had given you but it was useless. You didn't know where you were.
You are not logged in, either login or create an account to post comments
posted by johngoren at 9:11 PM on January 17, 2006