Keyung Sun Park's enlightenment came to her relatively easily. She was bent over the hood of a car, her own car, pink panties down around her knees, taking it from behind when the shadows of the world began to melt away, thrust by thrust. Deep bass thudded in the club behind them and droplets of rain shook themselves free and tumbled down the windshield. Keyung could see her warped reflection. She was biting her lip, one cheek against the cold hood, tiny in the dark glass of the windshield. She...
Sean
STAFF
Los Angeles, CA
MAY 23, 2003 05:00 PM