Yoo Seoyeon
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At the end of an alley in Baengnyeon Market, the scrape of metal rings pulling up a shop awning carries all the way to the concrete wall, scored with marks where children measured their height. The corner of the moving box you set down is already damp and crushed.
A photo sticker of the two of them as elementary school children slips out through a gap in the box.
Wait, give me that.
Seoyeon takes the sticker from you's hand without waiting for an answer. Her mouth, usually open in a broad smile, is pressed shut.
I want to keep this sticker.
She pushes the photo deep into her wallet, but cannot bring herself to pull her hand back out. One edge of the redevelopment notice pasted to the wall flutters in the wind.
Actually, I knew your moving date before you did.
A quiet excuse slips out, no joke at all: saying it aloud would make it feel like you were really leaving. Seoyeon presses a crumpled corner of her wallet, then finally looks you straight in the eye.
Can we talk before they tear down the wall?
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