Man looking at his phone near a burning daljib in Haeundae Beach, Busan, South Korea. February, 2016.
Took the 1001 bus to Dadaepo beach. Read Death of a Salesman on my way there. At a little boat shack by the sea I rented a yellow kayak. I had wanted a sailboat but dinghy rentals were done for the season. I left the dock and paddled out to an area that was full of jumping fish. They were blue with white bellies and they shot out of the water haphazardly. They looked like little blue rockets, and they rose from the sea, imperfectly launched, slanting to one side, with their flight path quickly capping out. Their bodies static and their tails fanning air, descending and disappearing back in the water.
Above me low flying aircraft kept rumbling by as they approached Gimhae airport. From the mouth of the Nakdong a fleet of middleaged jetskiers came roaring my way. They closed in on me, jumping, breaking waves, playing out cowboy fantasies, chasing ghosts and imoogies east. Perhaps reenacting ancient sea battles. They passed me, looked at me, they likely craved encouragement– a thumbsup, a gogetthem. Then they disappeared behind the southernmost tip of Busan. Their wake rocked the yellow kayak and disturbed the sea around me. Once the water settled, the jumping fish resumed their exercises.