Sometimes when I am drunkenly walking down the brightly lit streets of Seoul on a weekend night with a slight drunk and a cigarette still lit in my hand, I notice everything that’s going on around me:  the traffic lights, the people walking, their fingers, the sky, the neon on every corner, my slight stumble, my freezing toes.  And as I take a drag of my cigarette and slowly exhale watching it crystallize and disperse slowly into the air in front of me, I think to myself that this city, this grand metropolis of smog and no grass, is not so bad.  This may be my next home.