The royal tennis bomb

He told me if I got to the garbage pile I’d gone to far. Only in Seoul. Still, the directions got me there, to a roof top BBQ full of champagne, soju, and twenty-somethings dressed like tennis stars.

To frequent park-goers we’re probably “those people.” Or, as it were, they are. I am not. Every birthday is an occasion for a theme. K-pop, superheroes, the like. That night was Golf hos and tennis pros.

I used my imagination. High khaki shorts, an oxford, and penny loafers? Um, sorry. I don’t golf. Like, my dad’s a pro. He works here…I’m at the club for the bar tab. OK? Ok. Now go away.

Away.