Now you see me

Imagine sitting in a the second row of a large theater with hundreds of other people. Munching on sweet and crisp caramel popcorn while watching the one and only time Morgan Freeman doesn't come out on top in the end. Every once-in-a-while you look ever at your friend and share a laugh or a startled expression. The movie is thoroughly enjoyable. I mean, Morgan Freeman, Mark Ruffalo? Seriously, it has to be good. Even the subtitles at the bottom of the screen can't tarnish the look of this one. Now You See Me was worth every won we paid. Now it's over and we all stand up. Only...what's this? The seat stays down. I pushed on it with my calves, the way I always do when I get up from a theater seat that wants to stick a little. Then I look up and it hits me like the sound wave of what still sounds like gibberish that hits my ears. These seats don't fold up. Those subtitles were Korean. My friend had beautiful brown skin and straight black hair with laughing black eyes; her name is Jinah. I am listening to Korean, surrounded by Korean people, and eating Korean caramel popcorn in the Lotte Cinema in Seoul. Now You See Me, America. Now you don't.