4 a.m
There had been no real reason for him to go to Seoul this time . There were no private lessons there . His reactions toward Umsong also did not have much of a rationale . Occasionally , even when there were no private lessons in that area he sometimes got up around 4 a.m nonetheless ; took an hour long bus ride to that small town he had once lived in ; walked near bowing rice and corn ; crossed the bridge around a thin circular lake at a small park ; and stared at the Korean moon bolted tightly against the Korean sky . He wanted for the night to capture him somehow -- for a drunk motorcyclist or a lazy trucker to whisk a wild adventure and physical intimacies upon him and yet , in full wistful innocence , he equally wanted what he would always go there for : to hear nothing but birds and a whisk of wind in the tranquility of that sleepy town in one of its most tranquil hours . Nothing of the former ever happened and he would always come from the impulse to a feeling of loss . His impetus to go to Seoul this week had come from a dominant feeling of disconnection experienced by one who knew the extreme violence of the world , who knew the madness of hope for anyone , and felt being buried alive in that one perspective that the world was an evil place-a perspective that was not ethereal but solid as a coffin even if it did spill over into other things .