The man seemed to detect my distaste, because he rudely tapped my shoulder and said, “You live in Gangnam, so you must like Park Geun-hye. I can understand it, you’re rich.” I bit my bottom lip. The wife said, “Don’t be angry. He’s just joking. We live in that expensive apartment block over there, ourselves.” The two heads turned to each other and cackled as if she’d said something funny. I was just about ready to push this Great Wall of Smugness into the reservoir. Next to them, meanwhile, his face was growing as white as bread.

—But why are you out here at this hour? Shouldn’t you be at work?

—Oh, I had some outside business.

He avoided eye contact in a way that didn’t look suspicious at all. (He looked very suspicious.) The woman’s eyes grew wide.

—Two men have business here? With all these flowers and the good weather?

—Oh, yes. It, it just happened that way.

—Then you must be lovers.

The man’s joke made a smile break out on the woman’s face, which she tried to cover with her free hand.

—Darling, you can’t make jokes like that these days.

—Why not? The homosexual thing, the . . . queers? I’m not against it. I think it’s possible they really exist.

—What are you talking about? Isn’t it an evil colonial practice of the American Empire?

The couple clutched each other as they burst into laughter, and I thought, What is this completely and utterly incomprehensible bullshit, the things these old-timers think are funny? It was time to punch the eject button.

—We have to be going now.

—If you haven’t eaten, why don’t we have lunch together? I’ll buy for your underclassman.

I answered over his obvious hesitation.

—No, thank you. We’ve already eaten.

—Already? It’s only eleven.

—We had brunch.

Turning away from their shocked faces, I grabbed his arm and dragged him away. He complied, hastily saying goodbye. We were inside a taxi in a matter of moments.

His house was the most obvious place we could run away to. We needed to be where he felt safe. Because as annoyed at him as I was, I was worried. He looked absolutely awful. His hat came off as soon as we got inside. Then, he let out a deep sigh.

—Why did you have to do that?

—Do what?

—Why did you mention the word “brunch” to my upperclassmen? How do you think that makes me look to them?

—What do you mean, how does that make you look? It makes you their underclassman.

He was fuming, unable to let go of what had happened. I’d never seen him so angry, his emotions so intense. It threw me off. I could feel the thorns in my words as I spoke.

—Just who the hell do they think they are?

—My upperclassmen. They were student activists.

—They’re nothing to you. Why do you care about what they think? Just lie to them and move on with your life.