It's funny that the story of my fugitive roomate has to unfold like a Tarantino flic, starting backwards and working forward in non-linear fashion until we arrive at the anti-climactic beginning, but hey what are you gonna do? Pulp Fiction was alright, and single handedly resurrected John Travoltas's career after Look Who's Talking 1-5. Anyway, Wednesday proved relatively uneventful, until Nick was asked to teach an extra class (something which routinely happens to the foreign teachers), which he interpreted as some sort of plot to punish him for the Monday and Tuesday's awkwardness. Perhaps this was the straw which broke the canuck's back, because this was to be young Nic's final day at our fine institute. I went out carousing that night in Seong-so, one of Daegu's more upscale neighborhood, which I enjoy because it is one of the city's more foreign-friendly districts. Possibly this is because there is a large University there and a fairly open-minded student population. In any case, I came home to Nick and a few buddies taking turns smelling up the bathroom. They left their respective stenches and moved on, leaving only the fleeting aroma of nature's course to soothe me into a drunken slumber. In the morning I awoke and hopped on the subway to meet one of the coaches of my gym, who invited me to see the new Matrix movie with him at the absurd hour of 11:00 am. I noted the presence of Nic's shoes just inside the door as I departed. I saw the film and enjoyed a leisurely meal at Burger King, which I had managed to avoid for the better part of three years until that day. I came home to change my clothes just before work and quickly rushed to school. I didn't notice that by then almost everything of value had been cleared out from Nic's section of the apartment. When I arrived at school, Nic wasn't there. I tought my first class and still there was no sign of him. By the third class, Mr. Jo asked me for my keys so that he could check our apartment. I gave them to him and continued my labor of love. He returned my keys to me a few hours later, and told me that there was no sign of Nic, and that maybe he had gone back to his country. Better his than mine, I thought. Later when I went home, I confirmed that he was really gone. It was true. Than I began to feel guilty, as if I had somehow made him vanish by focusing my mighty mental powers on his dissapearence. His room was bare except for a bunch of dirty dishes and several ashtrays. He had cleared the refrigerater of his precious imported sausages and parmesan cheeses, leaving only rotten vegetables and fungus laden potatoes. to be continued...