Marina.
Cass. The Miller Lite of Korea.
Sophia, Marina and Franklin.
After leaving the park for Itaewon and a terrible experience at a "Mexican" restaurant (I've said it once, I'll say it again, New Yorkers can't make Mexican food), Jon and I went to get double espressos to try and facilitate a second wind. We took our coffees back to the bar where everyone was but the doormen wouldn't let us in with outside drinks. A sign for an 80s bar "Footloose" upstairs intrigued us so we nonchalantly waltzed in and snooped around. We were amazed with how intimate, ornate and empty the place was - albeit ignorant of the strange looks we were receiving from the bartenders.
When Jon started giggling and gyrating near a gold pole in the middle of a bar, a tiny Korean woman in 4-inch stilettos approached him and the following conversation ensued.
Woman: "Excuse me....[pointing at me] she cannot be here."
Jon: "Why?"
Woman: "No women allowed here."
Jon: "What? Why not?"
Woman: [quietly] "We are working women here."
Jon: "Ohhhhhh. I see." [Commence non-stop laughter.]
Needless to say we bolted. Some pretty hilarious stuff happens when you can't read/speak a language.
Jon. Mastering the Canadian hipster hobo look.
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