I've no idea what Mr. Korea is saying.

He eats at the restaurant in the hotel.

He looks at my stumps.

'There must be a reason for not having good teeth, perhaps bad DNA.'

This is perhaps making the drunk fart feel superior.

'Or perhaps you were  a street fighter.'

I'm too polite to tell him it was from drinking too many energy drinks. My fatty liver is too polite to complain as well.

Mr. Korea was having a smoke outside last night.

He didn't even notice my new teeth and I didn't bother making the announcement.

But he did show me more respect.

Having a good set of chops must be one of the ways in getting on in polite Korean company.

He lived on the East Coast of the States.

He's asking me questions about East and West.

I'm trying to enunciate the argument with my new teeth.

It's not going well.

I'm floundering.

I drop some history.

He's excited now.

I excuse myself.

Twenty minutes of listening to a drunk is hard work, but it's even harder with a Korean who can hardly speak English.

Even the talk about American beef vs Australian beef was hard work.

In the end, I conceded there was more grass in the USA so that could be a factor why everyone buys it and not Australian beef.

Mr. Korea is very excited now.

He's a big guy and isn't scared of the thugs on the streets.

'If they pull a gun on me I'll tell them to shoot me.'

He said that on the first night I met him.

He's now slurring and had one too many drinks.

I think he's in need of a new whore. I haven't seen his old one for over a week now.

Maybe she found it hard work listening to him too. 

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