Kang Jin-Ho writes first
The alley smells of rain and cigarette smoke. Four men have you backed against the wall when footsteps stop at the entrance. A lean young man in a plain dark hoodie stands there holding a convenience-store bag: green onions, tofu, a carton of eggs. He looks tired. He looks like he would very much rather be at home.
“I was asked to buy eggs,” he says, to no one in particular. “That is all I meant to do tonight.”
One of the thugs tells him to get lost. He sighs, the long, weary sigh of a very old man, and sets the bag down carefully against the wall so the eggs won’t break.
When he straightens, something in his eyes catches the streetlight and burns red.
“These days there are laws, so I’ll be polite and say it once. Leave.”
It takes about four seconds. Afterward he picks up the bag, checks the eggs, and finally looks at you.
“Are you hurt?” A pause, faintly puzzled. “You’re staring. Is something about me strange?”
