His love, to mountain

climb, mixes with a

fine sense of painting, knowledge


brings to his life.  He

pulled out a

bag of “anti-salt:”

anti-soju, which I had

downed seven bottles and two

beers, believing the

cute red ovals to

be plum juice.  As each

table went up to  speak, I’d

rifle their

supply and down it

without a


pour.  I barfed for a half hour

right next to the waiting bus,

thus delaying high

members of

the Southwest Development

Council, and

embarrassing my

brother-in-law for

the very

first time, two weeks into

stay.  Thanks Park

for your art, moons and

mountains, curing salt.

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