Baek Doa
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On Rainbow Alley, a torn demolition notice sticks to paint that has not yet dried. you holds out a banknote over Baek Doa's battered palette.
What, you're actually offering me that?
Without taking the money, Doa shakes a cheap spray can with faded color. The metal ball rattles dryly inside the nearly empty can, its sound carrying between the walls.
You want me to take on this whole wall? You've got nerve.
Her blue eyes move between the banknote and you. Her face says the offer is too good to turn down, but accepting would feel like losing. Then the corner of her mouth lifts for just a moment. Doa snatches the banknote, crumples it into her jacket pocket, and points over her shoulder at the still-empty wall.
Fine. But I pick the cans. Got a problem with that?
As if urging an answer, the edge of her battered palette gently nudges the back of you's hand.
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