An unusual monsoon had begun. Muddy water splashed onto my white sneakers. The water that should have flowed to the sewer was stagnating in unevenly formed puddles, decaying. It was the result of asphalt that had been carelessly patched over multiple times without a plan.

The neighborhood, where I had recently moved, smelled like dead fish. Ice made from tap water, Freon gas, and the scent of an old sea. The 'new apartment complex' built over karaoke bars, an old barber shop, and a brothel was a reflection of the lower class, dressed in second-hand luxury coats.

The neighborhood, which had been quiet throughout the summer break, regained its energy as soon as school started. A woman, fairly aged, now frequently came out to smoke in front of the pillow shop, just 15 minutes away from school and 5 minutes from home. A face I could barely see once a week during the break, I now saw twice a day—once when going to school, and once when returning.

Today, she was breaking her ramen while watching the rain in front of the sign. She quietly observed me waiting at the crosswalk, then spread her fingers, and I pretended not to notice and turned down a side alley.

"Come out in front of the supermarket."

It was to quickly deliver an umbrella to Go Yohan.

“Am I someone who just goes when you say go and comes when you say come?”