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from the next car. He was holding a balled up bunch of blue thread. "Does this thread belong to you?" Thanks to the station agent, the single strand that had taken us half an hour to disentangle now looked exactly the way it had before we began. The one end of the red thread was in my hand. The rest of it sat in a heap on the seat beside me. There was no room for evasive measures. "Yes." "We got a report that a suspicious man in a suit was planting a bomb on the train." "A bomb?" My voice sounded louder than I had intended. Somebody must've mistaken the blue thread for a detonator fuse. Somewhere on this planet, there must be someone who would use colorful fuses when building bombs. "Why did you leave this thread on the floor of the car, sir? You're not planting a bomb, are you?" "Would someone who planted a bomb say, 'Yes, as a matter of fact I did just plant a bomb?' Anyway, why isn't it going off? Should blow any second now‌" M, who had been sitting silently until then, jumped into the conversation. The station agent looked back and forth between us. It must've been a rare sight to see two men in suits holding hanks of blue and red thread. M couldn't stop laughing. "I think you'd better come with me." The station agent collected the loose bundle of red thread from the seat. He poked at the newspapers strewn in the overhead luggage racks and searched the area around our seats. The station clerk would know right away there was no bomb. We didn't look like the kind of people who would have anything to do with explosives. I'm not saying it takes a particular type of person to plant a bomb, but I do think that people who say to themselves, 'I'm going to blow up the world!' probably have a different look about them. Our eyes probably read firecrackers, rather than explosives. When the remaining passengers heard the three of us talking about a bomb, they all moved to the next car. "I apologize," I said to the station agent in a soft voice. "What we're doing here, it's supposed to be art." The station agent turned his head and stared at me. He looked as though he was hearing the word 'art' for the first time in his life. Come to think of it, I felt like I was saying the

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[korean short stories]kim junghyuk, the glass shield  
[korean short stories]kim junghyuk, the glass shield  
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