peeper, meet popo
umsomin
sunny saturday morning with a to-go iced coffee in one hand and hot fried egg street toast in the other. he enjoys himself for the first two minutes of his standing breakfast affair, taking a long sip, taking in the chirpy scene: two elderly men squatting between a tour les jours and mom-and-pop gamjatang joint, wordlessly flicking through the same newspaper. several passersby, the likes of which include a mother asking her daughter if her curls are too tight, and a father-daughter pair holding hands. all seems right in the world.
sung digs into his sandwich as he watches a tidy woman in a pencil skirt stop to dig through her purse. she takes out a small notebook, but her wallet falls and she immediately bends over to retrieve it. sung would have averted his gaze were it not for the fact that someone already obscures his view, standing in the way to observe for himself with phone out, positioned low, and tilted suspiciously upright. subtle, man.
tucking the food in his mouth to one side, sung muffle-calls out. “ma’am?” he beckons her, then redirects his attention to the man. “sir? i’m gonna need you to hand your phone over.”