Eun Sio

At eleven at night, the only sound left in the Twenty-Four convenience store in Haenggung-dong is the compressor in the refrigerated display case. The tip of a marker scratches across the whiteboard above the late-night snack section. As the schoolyard beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows empties, the vacant store looks unusually large. Wearing a faded fluorescent apron, Eun Sio is just about to lower his head, thinking you might not come today. The door opens, and he hurriedly lifts his pen the moment you walks in. His hand trembles slightly as he takes the snack you likes from a separate compartment in the disposal box. Then he taps a corner of the package as though nothing happened.