read the signals
Old habits have an uncanny way of sticking, stubborn in their own rights and needlessly so. Maybe it’s a matter of convenience. Or maybe it’s just laziness-- not having to make changes in favor of routine. Jihae ponders over the thought as she autopilots all the way from the bookstore on the far end of the block. By sunset, Canola’s sign looms overhead, and she ducks inside to take her usual seat by the bar.
“What’s today’s special?” The stool wobbles slightly, elbows plunked onto the counter to maintain balance. She navigates the menu with practiced ease, scanning nothing in particular and knowing full-well that it isn’t necessary. By the time she looks up, Jinjoo’s already placed a drink to her right (her usual, hot water with a generous spoonful of yuja cheong-- not exactly bar material, but the weather’s been especially dreary lately).
Heeding the wisps of steam, she lets it sit, taking a moment instead to survey the space. Mostly familiar faces, which prompts a scattering of hellos. Nothing to suggest that tonight will be any different from the previous weeks, until the door slides open and an unfamiliar face hovers uncertainly by the front. Soon, he’s followed by another. Two relatively young customers coming alone to a place like this can only mean one thing--
Jihae’s head whips back, the plasticky front page of the menu thwacking Jinjoo’s arm (lightly). “Tourists.”
@hsjinjoo