Ok, maybe I don’t own the city.

Rain makes everything take longer. I started getting anxious on bus 78-3. Traffic was terrible, the rain pouring. One block’s distance took 10 minutes. I kept looking up at the little digital clock above the driver’s head, the time just flying by. It seemed we hit every red light. I think the bus driver thought so too, because at one point he dove into the oncoming lanes, swerving back over onto our side only when he'd reached the middle of the intersection, passing under the red light. Eventually, I became too anxious and turned off the music. My stop was near, but I had only 5 minutes before my appointment with a stranger, and the destination was not exactly near the bus stop. Not to mention, I had the bag with me, that horrible plastic bag full of books I’d decided to haul along so that I could etch into my conscious a good deed.

It must’ve weighed 25 lbs. Plastic, like the ones at the grocery store, it’s handles scrunched together slicing into my flesh. The walk to the bus stop was long and unbelievably wet. The bag in one hand, ruining my posture, an umbrella in the other, and the backpack loaded down with surplus software. I could feel the weight of the bag contents testing the tenacity of the plastic; I could feel it stretching in cadence with my steps. Or was that my arm? Like some medieval torture, the bag wanted to force the separation of cartilage, ligaments, tendons, muscle, and bone. I had to go underground to get cash. I set the bag down -- I set the bag down a lot on the trip: on the wet gritty sidewalk, the slimy floor of the bus. My elbow ached when the tissues contracted.

The clock read 2:58 when I pressed the buzzer to stop the bus. I arrived at the USO at 3:05, where Rob waited in dry BDU’s for me. I had a bunch of extra software, see; stuff I was going to throw away but decided it would be a waste to just toss it all. Instead I advertised it on a local newsgroup, where Rob spoke up and said his kids would take all the games. Great. Meet me at 3pm, at the USO. He was on time, and as usual I was not. I was dripping this time too.

I set the bag down behind one of the couches in the lobby area. We shook hands and I asked him if he had time to chat. He did. He told me the story of how his wife left him 10 months ago, left him alone to care for three kids. His clear green eyes added honesty and a bit of solemnity to the words.

Three forty-five now. Spose’d to meet Dave in 15 minutes. I call him on his hand phone. He’s in a cab on the way to the meeting point. Oh. I still got the bag. Time to unload it. Back out into the rain, using the extra length of my goretex sleeve to prevent the poor excuse for handles from doing permanent damage. The rain is relentless and I’m forced to walk on the edge of the sidewalk farthest from the street. Buses are pushing through, forcing the water up and out in high sprays onto innocent pedestrians.

Used book store. I had trouble with the door: no hands available to pull, it seems. The guy inside - the owner - waded through my bag of books. Picking out four, he said the rest were of no interest to him. That’s cool but, "I’m tired of carrying them, can you get rid of them for me?" But really, it was like, "Buddy, if you only knew the kind of pain I endured just to do the right thing…" And that’s what I was thinking as I plodded through the puddles on the way to the bus stop: Sometimes the right thing isn’t worth the effort.

In Itaewon Dave ordered two suits. About time, is what I think: the man needs new ones. I stopped at the black market to buy a snack for the ride home. I got some Newton Cobblers, Fat Free, and they are soooo good. Wow. I might take the package back and ask the woman if she can get someone to pilfer more of those from the Commissary.

Returned home to sparkling floors. This morning I was a cleaning maniac: dusted, vacuumed, mopped. Mopped. I used the old mop Catherine gave me before she moved to Japan. There are no such things as long handled mops or brooms in Korea. Believe it or not! I did laundry too: all of my dirty clothes and started working on the sheets.

Tonight I took apart the humidifier, scouring it in preparation for storage. I say good riddance! to that thing for the next three seasons.

Yesterday I forgot to record that I saw a shoplifting incident at Tongdaemun. It’s a very crowded place, dangerously so. There is a certain Taoist kind of skill that one needs to acquire for maneuvering within the market crowds here, and once achieved it becomes fairly easy to navigate. Before then, however, a trip to the market can be very wearing and sometimes you get bruised. Anyway, in a crowded stretch where a little stall overflowing with bedding materials was nearly swallowing up a walkway that happened to line a wall, people stood waiting to filter through. As I approached, a woman walked to my left with a big pile of bedding. A moment later, a man yelled after her. She flinched, immediately dropped the bedding and waddled off around the corner looking several times behind her. The man tried to follow but it was crowded and she had already dropped the goods. I was walking in the same direction as she and was able to catch a long glimpse of her. She looked homeless, or on the verge of it. At the very least, she desperately needed new clothing and a bath. I’ve seen a few homeless women the last few months; I had never seen any before. I spose it would be easy to assume that the economic situation is at fault, but maybe I’m just out and about more, or just more observant.