fourth string ft. @lovehypnoses w/ yirang
if jinam wanted to crawl under a rock while walking through the mall on a normal day, what long lasting trauma would this experience have on him ? he had an old ukulele slung haphazardly over his back, varnish coating chipped and the wood worn down, clearly showing signs of heavy use over an extended period.
it was a dumb little hobby he'd picked up over the years, learned from his father who'd learned it from his father; the original person the ukulele jinam now carried belonged to. he was rather skilled, but it was never really something he told people about. it just seemed like such am embarrassing conversation piece. who the hell likes the guy who whips out a ukulele everywhere ?
still, when the bottom string of the instrument had snapped while he was tuning it, he knew it would bother him if he didn't get it restrung. he hadn't had to perform such maintenance in years, so he was a bit ignorant to what he needed exactly. as he awkwardly bounds into wangto records, he sees a girl at the sales counter. ever reluctant about human interaction, he approaches cautiously while retrieving the ukulele from behind his back. "doyouknowherethestringsare ??" he mumbles, his request mostly unintelligible from the speed at which it flew at the other.
As she leans on the counter, Yirang's calculating just how much money she's spent in the last 48 hours and how many shifts she'd have to pick up to make up for it. Lunch at the airport, the train to Daegu and the taxi to her grandparents' place-- she's 90% sure she was ripped off-- and the 30-cm long receipt for necessities she'd picked up at the grocery store.
Yeah, she's seriously gotta start recouping her losses.
Her 1 hour old job at Wangto doesn't seem half-bad, either. She's been spacing out for the past 15 minutes, her coworker having stepped out for a smoke break. An easy $12 earned so far- nevermind that the only thing she just barely knows to do is how to work the register.
A customer bustles into the store, and Yirang straightens up, smiling at them as she tries to remember if the store had a greeting of any kind. He beats her to the punch, though, with a garbled sentence. Greeting? Question? "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that." Brows come together in confusion. "It's my first day, soz." Gestures to her DIY tag, and then herself. "What do you need, again?" Back to the million-watt customer service smile.










