The September rain of Korean Peninsula I like. Yes, that needle-sharp cotton-soft monotonous rain, more like drizzle. When you're out walking, it wets you slowly; unnoticeably. Then it lasts long. In the bus, it lets smell of hair "naked," removing all the artificial fragnance from the hair. You realize the hair of that girl who you slept with last night was sampoo-fake. You smell genuine ocean scent from your mom's two-day-sampoo-old thin hair, when you back home. High school girl's round small breasts over September-rain-wet blouse are pitapattingly cute. After all, it's September rain. Sitting in the cafe of downtown Seoul, watching it descending quietly through the window, a few puffs of cigarette always went fine with me. Even in dream, how dare I forget... ----------------------------------------- Mountain is mountain, water is water. --------------------------------------- J jhan@ucsd.edu