That Flower Has Phlgem On It

I light another stick of nag champa, lie down, and watch the wisps of smoke unfurl around my apartment like ghostly dragons. I get up, mix myself some soju (my first today), and sit down at my computer--I have no intention of going out tonight, it's too late, wet, and cold. It's odd out anyway (not the foreignness, I learned to accept even the strangest of sights as merely Korean long ago), but the weather itself, the vegetation, is fucked. There are flowers in full bloom growing out of snowy pots, tropical palms of vibrant green whose trunks are blanketed in white. The snow here doesn't even fall in flakes, but tiny spheres that slush instantly underfoot but ball perfectly for snow fights. There is no grass (at least, not that I've seen), just uneven concrete, volcanic rocks, flowerpots, and trees that, while healthy, look like they require a great deal of effort to keep upright.
I didn't realize that there is a massive mountain within view of the city until two months after I got here, and I haven't seen it since. Everyone is sick. Everyone. I have been sick for so long that the degree to which I am sick now may as well be perfect health, because it is nothing compared to previous degrees of sickness, and the sickness of others.
One of my students gave me a Pikachu head made out of beads. It is fucking awesome.