Seoul streets rumble under my feet.
The hum and buzz of motion; metal to metal, propelled through blackened tunnels where walls remain obscure and only glass reflections reveal an internalized compartment, stern faces. Starting and stopping requires loose legs, allowing for a kind of dampened reaction to the jerky motion of pinned cars. This is a street to be sure with beggars and paddlers daily. The actors remain silent, although I know they too are there, seated quietly waiting in turn for their moments to shine. Gawkers sit on the side-lines watching and chatting quietly. Personal space in these streets is non-existent. I remain flexible to the possibility and definition of 'street', my morning street, deep in the city.
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