Let’s start with today. Today was warm and sunny. After work, I eschewed the GangNam area, and headed to Hongdae for a taste of rambunctiousness. I sat down on a bench in parking lot and lit a cigarette. It was oddly refreshing to smoke cigarette while watching two drivers cursing and arguing over the parking spot on the street.
I closed my eyes, trying to remember the last time I sat down and write. My newly accustomed way of life has brought me no time to write, think, or feel, but enough money to afford pricey dress and shoes. I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m losing my word. I feel mental disorientation that everything surrounding me is fake, including myself. Weekends filled with wanton evenings spent with good looking, yet dumb guy. Too much alcohol, too many handsome people with phallus. Many times, I sit at the dream corner table at Hyatt lounge, spent time talking, eating, flirting, wooing, cooing, and much later, fucking.
After one cigarette, I lit another one, then I aimlessly walked around Hongdae area. This place seemed like an oasis of biking, jogging, strolling, reading, drawing, studying, smoking, eating, street music, fashion, young artists, and solitude. I checked my phone to see what time it is, then saw there was one missed call and a text message from him. It said “Join me for a drink tonight.”
I never called him back, and I probably will never see him again.
