Next Stop: Normal People

I was sitting on the Pyongyang Metro interrogating Older Handler. As usual, I was trying to get to the bottom of things.

ME: Who are these people on the subway?

OLDER HANDLER: To be honest, normal people.

This was how it would go. She would reply to my question with such absurd nonsense that I would either have to just suck it up and stop asking questions or prepare to dig in, and let the baby-talk roll. But getting past her rehearsed lies—no matter how reductive my questioning—was impossible. And this exchange was no different.

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