factoring time into the equation? not exactly what she had in mind when she said that, but.
there’s a time and a place for everything. she’s only now starting to realize the truth behind the words for every slight she’s made that someone has subsequently let slide, and yet. as she grows older the consequences hit harder as tolerances and patiences narrow. excuses mean far less now than they did a year ago, and she can only imagine it’ll get worse with time.
“maybe i should have rephrased.” she doesn’t. “on the contrary. seems to me like there’s a perfect time to unleash a day’s worth of complaints,” if she’s talking time and place, then, “in a taxi.” she laughs. “can’t imagine how many lousy grumps you’ve run into.” lousy grumps like her, but she doesn’t feel like painting herself in an entirely sorry light, strangers be damned.
like most silences at this time of night, she suspects this one runs deeper than what he lets on. her response, meanwhile, is immediate. “can’t,” gahyun echoes. “ugly without making a statement.” to that effect, she adds teasingly, “maybe we should both go for crocs instead. next best thing.”
it takes a moment, but consider him sold. "you got me there." a sigh and a shake of his head, but the white flag of surrender doesn't wave with remorse. just as easily, he laughs too. fingertips lift then unlift from either side of the steering wheel as he drives down. perfect is subjective, which warrants a subject to change, anytime, anywhere, with anyone. “only one time?” and only here? on second thought, where else would it be?”
"they're not all lousy. and if they are, not all of 'em are grumps, either." suppose the variety of both keeps the job interesting. haeil glances at her through the rearview, suddenly contemplative. "i think you fall somewhere in between, actually." this too, subject to change, but remains as so for the sake of the jest.
another red light, and they stop once more for seemingly no one; seemingly because it’s also at this time of night that perhaps phantom, shrouded things cross paths with this plane of existence and over this road, invisible or never really there at all or his mind is wandering again. he’s pulled back from it just as quickly as he’d caved into the previous bout of silence. “are crocs ugly while making a statement, then?” a hum, lips pursed in thought. “what’s the next best thing after that?”
