The Korean complex, day one

Ten matching towers poke out of the ocean. Ten more, twenty. Twenty more. The bridge stretches across a fog grey sky, misting then merging into slate dotted with boats.

The bus turns into Icheon. Two girls sleep in seats beside me, the younger clutches a purple blanket. My own eyes are peeled open.

The east boat house, Tomorrow City, and a local to dial the number. Nod head, smile, make grand, flambouyant gestures. Breakfast at the airport, afternoon somewhere, morning breaks a humid dawn.

The city scape doesn't stop, only breaks for mountains and water and small plots of crop. Hills of green wind round apartments stacked side by side, built up like piles of lego blocks neverending.

The car pulls up to a temporary home. Slide off shoes and walk in.