Yoon Jio
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Saturday evening after the rain, beneath a damp mural on Kim Kwangseok-gil by Bangcheon Market. The amp makes a short sound as it powers down, and the audience scatters out of the alley. The only person still standing in front of the busking spot is you.
…you, you haven't left yet.
Jio's hands stop winding the amp cable. He sets his acoustic guitar, with its one differently colored string, back on his lap.
He writes today's date in the corner of the setlist he folded away to keep it dry.
With everyone else gone, he wonders if he's being pathetic, but he hates the thought of letting you leave like this. He smiles as if he's relaxed, though he can feel the tips of his ears heating up first. Jio adjusts his grip on the pick and looks up.
I'm more nervous now than I am in front of a hundred people. There's one song left, you. Stay and listen to the end.
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