Christmas At the Hummingbird House
“stood Park Sung and Kim Gi. They had changed into what were apparently their working uniforms: white cotton pants and white wrap jackets, which might have been appropriated from either a chef’s locker or a karate school. Their feet were bare. Derrick, worried about the cold floors, and Paul, worried about sanitation, had tried to offer them a variety of slippers and socks, but they had refused all. “It must be a religious thing,” whispered Derrick at last.
“Hoppy feet,” agreed Paul, sang...uine.
Kim Gi held a tray filled with hand-painted ceramic cups of wassail. No one had asked her to do it, and in fact Derrick, not wishing to impose on her good will, had tried to take the tray away from her, but she, with her unwavering cheek-to-cheek smile, was resolute. “It must be a religious thing,” Paul had decided, and Derrick uneasily agreed. “I just don’t want to be a stereotype,” he added. “After all, they’re massage professionals.”MoreLess
“Hoppy feet,” agreed Paul, sang...uine.
Kim Gi held a tray filled with hand-painted ceramic cups of wassail. No one had asked her to do it, and in fact Derrick, not wishing to impose on her good will, had tried to take the tray away from her, but she, with her unwavering cheek-to-cheek smile, was resolute. “It must be a religious thing,” Paul had decided, and Derrick uneasily agreed. “I just don’t want to be a stereotype,” he added. “After all, they’re massage professionals.”MoreLess
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