"I'm sorry, Mr Min."

"But you don't understand. My brother's living here."

"So is everyone else's brother, sister, child or grandchild," A rather unpleasant looking carer responded. "It's government guidelines."

"I couldn't care less about gover…"

"Mr Min. The residents here are particularly vulnerable. Over seventy percent are considered risk groups. We need to try and avoid spreading the virus as much as we can."

"I've been home for the last two weeks. Also, I'm happy to do a test or whatever. I don't want to spread that stupid virus any more than you do. But I promised my brother I'm going to visit him as soon as I can."

The carer sighed. "Mr Min, there is nothing I can do, I'm afraid. Even if I wanted, I couldn't overrule official guidelines. Perhaps you can visit your brother next week?" He sounded hopeful enough, but I recognised bullshitting when I heard it. If he didn't let me in today, there would also be no next week or week after. Not until the restrictions were lowered, and the next discussion date was over a month away. 

"Listen, man. I get you. You're doing your job. But there must be a way. My brother only moved in last weekend. I only want to know how he is doing? If he's settling in well. I…I promised I'd visit him soon."

"You could send us an email," the idiot in purple scrubs suggested. "We'd be happy to forward a report on how your brother is doing. Communication with the families is one of the key aspects."

"Fucking stop reciting bloody textbooks," I grumbled. "There must be something you can do? Can I speak to Ms Eli?"

"Ms Eli is currently at home, quarantining, I'm afraid. She won't be here for two weeks at least."

I parted with a few choice words on my lips, but there wasn't anything else I could have done. I squinted my eyes, rubbed my temples and walked back to the bus stop. I didn't mind that I made the journey for no reason. But I truly missed my brother. I didn't admit Jimin here to abandon him. I wanted to see him.

Although I had not confirmed a specific date, I pictured Jimin sitting in his blue painted room with the whales on the wall, looking out of the window. Waiting for me with growing anticipation, only to be disappointed. I couldn't bear the thought. 

"Fuck you," I shouted at the building. It felt as if the entire universe was against me. 

"Perhaps you can phone Jimin?" Joon, always the voice of reason suggested when I called him to…I don't know. Check with the police if there was a way around the restrictions? Moan at someone?

"Phoning is not the same." I huffed. I want to see Jimin. I wanted to give him a Bangtan Bar. 

"I'm afraid it's the best you can do in the current circumstances."

"Don't you start too with restrictions, and prohibitions and whatever other -itions. I don't want to hear any of this shit."

There were some odd noises coming from the other end of the line which sounded a lot like Joon had a rendezvous with one of too many houseplants. 

"Over which pot did you stumble this time?"

"My Christmas tree… I still haven't found the time to throw it out. Maybe I'll just leave till the next one. The thing is prickly though. Darn… I don't know what's worse. Looking like a hedgehog or stinking like a fish."

Stinking like a fish? "You've been out at the docks again, haven't you?"

"All week, and next. We're on a stakeout. And thanks to the situation, we are doing so with a skeleton staff."

"Darn. Sorry. I shouldn't upload my own shit onto you. You should go to bed."

"I'm actually thankful for the distraction," Joon chuckled. "I'm sorry that I can't be of any further help though. I feel my brain might have thoroughly fried during two weeks of eighteen-hour shifts."

"Nevertheless, you need sleep. I will stop pestering you. You really need to learn how to say no occasionally, you know?"

"I know. I'm working on it. Promise."

I hung up on Joon but kept pacing up and down my place with my phone still in hand. Would Jimin be happy if I called him? Or disappointed, because I couldn't come to see him in person. I sighed. I guess Joon was right, though. This was the best option—the only option I had to contact my brother. 

I was just about to dial the number when the gadget started to vibrate. "Hello?"

"Min!" The voice sounded like a razor blade and it took me a moment before I was able to place it. 

"Kim? Kim Dasong? What's up, man?" Why was my idiot colleague calling me now? While I was waiting for him to get on with things, I eyed the rota. Today and tomorrow were indeed my days off. Phew. I was concerned for just a second here.

"You're a motherloving son of a b.." Dasong growled, and I wondered what I supposedly had done wrong. Despite him being an occasional dickhead, we had got along quite well. 

"Hey, is that a way to talk to your supervisor?" I teased. He had adapted quite well to my promotion and accepted it with little fuss, although I did like to rub it in his face on occasion. 

"Supervisor, my arse," Dasong huffed. "What the fuck, Min? What did I ever do to you?"

"What the heck are you talking about?"

"What I'm talking about? I'm talking about the fucking redundancy package I received in the mail today."

"What?" I gaped at my phone, although the display didn't make any more sense of the conversation I was currently having.

"My redundancy pay. Which is ridiculously low, by the way." Dasong barked. 

"I didn't know anything about this." It was the truth. These days, any staffing changes were made via HR with no direct input from anyone at the branch, especially not a measly supervisor. 

"Cut the crap, Min. I've seen you working on that fucking spreadsheets."

"What does my spreadsheet have to do with any of this?"

"Just how much of an idiot can a single person be? Fucking think, Min. We all could have created a stupid spreadsheet if we wanted. The only reason no one fucked around with procedures was that everyone knew it would cut jobs. But you needed to go ahead and do it anyway. You couldn't lick enough corporate arseholes—and what for? A stupid little meaningless promotion. I hope the fucking supervisor position is worth it."

There was a click and Dasong hung up the phone. I sagged onto my knees, contemplating his words. I thought back to the new procedures I had implemented, and all the spreadsheets I had created to make processes easier. Never once had I thought about any impact this would have on our staffing levels. Had other people really thought of similar ideas, but forfeited them because—unlike me, they had seen the bigger picture? If that was the case, I really was a bigger idiot than I had originally thought. No surprise there. 

I sat down on my bed, rubbed my temples and sighed. A migraine was coming—they came more frequently these days. "What the fuck did I do? And what the fuck am I going to do now?"

There was a loose thread on my sleeve and I started pulling it absentmindedly. I had always been one of the gang, always one of those calling out the higher ups for any capitalistic bullshit they pulled. 

When I was still rapping in the underground scene, this had often been part of my rhymes. So how had I turned into a corporate arselicker myself? 

The answer was easy: Because all of a sudden I had a reason to hope for a better income and a career. I bit my lip. Perhaps I had lost sight of the bigger picture because I had stopped writing lyrics? That had always been the time, I reflected on things. Put thoughts into perspective. Walked a mile in somebody else's shoes. 

But even though I had given up my rockstar dreams, there was no need for me to give up music in general, was there? I could still write songs and still perform some rap battles—at least once this was a possibility again—when this stupid pandemic finally fucked off. 

And maybe, one day, someday, I could even take Jimin with me. Maybe he would enjoy watching one of my shows. 

With a jolt, I realised that I actually had no clue what type of music my brother liked. And whether his tastes had changed with the accident. 

My hand flew to my pocket, and I realised I no longer carried any cigarettes around. Another sigh. Then I got up to prepare myself a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would have an equally calming effect on me as nicotine. But as I drank the bitter, brown liquid, I craved a smoke even more. The world really wasn't a fair place. 

Later that day, I contemplated calling Jimin again. I looked for MOTS House's number—I should really save it one of those days—started dialling, but hung up again. What the fuck was I supposed to say? "I'm sorry I broke my promise to you? I'm sorry but some law-making imbeciles decided you needed to be locked up for your own good? 

Calm down, Yoongs. It's a fucked up situation. Just try to explain the best you can. 

Nevertheless, I kept on pacing up and down, my room, trying to come up with the right words to say, until my phone started to ring. Was Jimin calling me?

"Man listen I'm so so sorry really shit I mean…." I blubbered without any punctuation marks or having checked caller ID.

"You sound like you need a drink just as much as I do," came an unexpected, althoughrather familiar voice. Shop-dude. 

"Just tell me when and where and I'll be there," I mumbled. A drink was exactly what I needed right now. And hopefully, he had a pack of cigarettes and would spare me one. Snitching off a ciggy off a friend occasionally wasn't really smoking, was it? As long as I didn't invest in my own pack, I was good. 

Phone call to MOTS completely forgotten, I slipped into my shoes and left the house. There was a playground right in the middle of our respective houses, where we decided to meet. Bars and pubs and restaurants were still closed, but street vendors had been allowed to open again, although the outdoor seating provided was sparse. 

I bought a few bottles of beer and Shop-dude would bring some fried chicken then we would meet at a set of swings. No kids were on playgrounds these days. They had become a hangout spot for young adults, who didn't have anywhere else to go. 

Shop-dude looked almost happy when I arrived. He was already on a pair of swings, a forgotten takeaway bag on the ground, as he swung high into the air. 

"You okay?" I asked, laughing at the sight. 

"Couldn't be better," he grinned and stopped. "Did you bring Kloud?"

I waved the bottles in his face, and he took one, while I reached for one of the fast-food containers. Munching on a delicious fried chicken, I realised I hadn't eaten anything all day. 

"I'll be reopening the shop." Shop-dude grinned. 

"What? How? When?"

"Well, It's not going to be exactly the same shop. It's going to be a much smaller branch, and it's going to be a district away, but I most likely will be back in business from next month onwards."

"That's amazing! How did that happen?"

"There is a little corner shop currently run by an elderly couple. Or rather the shop was run by an elderly couple. Like me, they haven't been able to keep afloat. Their daughter has invited them to live with her and her family in Seoul, and as they're elderly, it's probably for the best."

"So it's an independent shop?" I was happy for Shop-dude, although I wondered how he could afford to purchase a shop all of a sudden.

"It was," he said between a mouthful of chicken. "I will franchise it. It's more cost-effective that way."

"But you still had to buy the shop up front, didn't you?"

Shop-dude reached for a cigarette and placed it between his lips. "You stopped smoking, didn't you?" 

Yes. "No." 

He offered me the pack and I withdrew a cancer stick and lit it up. The first drag of nicotine felt so good, like a long-lost friend. Theoretically, now that Jimin no longer lived with me, I really had no reason to give up, right?

I looked at Shop-dude expectantly, prompting him to continue. He looked reluctant for a moment, and fiddled with his hems. Then he took another drag and sighed. 

"Yes, I bought it. I took out a loan." He mumbled. "But I think it was the right thing to do. I mean… I have to make a living, and you know… the pandemic will end at one point and a shop is a long term investment. It's going to be tricky for a little while... but I think, with the franchise… it will be worth it. I have a good feeling about it, you know…" He shrugged his shoulders, looked down at his feet, then scratched his head. "Once business is doing well and my income is stable I can propose to my Becky and she would be able to return to Korea and we could be together again…start a family, you know…" He trailed off, gazing into the far distance. 

I guess he made the best decision for himself. He had a perspective now. "Having a perspective. A plan. Is good." I nodded. "I'm really happy for you. And I hope the shop won't be too far away. I still wanna come and shop there. Support you as much as I can." Secretly, I hoped the lifelong friends and family discount would remain in place, too. But I would support my friend either way. 

"It will be quite a journey from yours, I'm afraid." He sighed. "It's a low-income district though, so I will mainly be stocking off-brand items and will try to run special promotions and offers. The advantage is, many of those people can't afford cars and will want to shop locally. 

"Talking about cars," I ventured carefully. "I'll be getting back my licence soon. And a friend of mine is selling me his hold car—he prefers speeding around in his police cruiser. So I could perhaps help you with the move?"

"Would you? That would be totally amazing," Shop-dude beamed. "I'm currently scouting apartments—nothing fancy—it will only be for myself for the time being. I'd certainly appreciate your help."

"Deal," I extended my hand.

"Deal."

The story about the car wasn't quite true though. I wouldn't buy it off Joon. I would only borrow it for an indefinite amount of time—until my own finances looked a little less dire. I glanced at Shop-dude, wondering how he managed to be granted a loan for a whole fucking shop in the current climate, while I failed to qualify for just a tiny little amount—merely enough to purchase an old-beaten down car. 

I sighed, some people seemed to simply go through life with much more luck than I did. Most people I knew were like cats. Whatever they did, they always landed on their feet… somehow. Whereas I…. I fell on my head at every available opportunity. But when had life ever been fair? 

"How many apartments have you seen so far?"

Shop-dude shrugged. "Not that many to be fair. It's been…hard."

"You mean because of the pandemic?" 

"That too. More and more people move into smaller apartments and low-income districts these days, but this isn't the main issue." He sighed, lit up another cigarette, then slapped his knee. "If it weren't for that fucker, I'd already found a place," he grumbled. "Try finding something that isn't seventh or eighth floor without a lift."

"I'm sixth floor without lift," I nodded. "The apartments on levels one to three would have been pricier."

"Bigger as well," Shop-dude added. "For some reason, most complexes have one and two bedroom apartments on the lower floors, and the studios further up. Probably because they assume students would move there, and they are young and wouldn't mind many stairs in compromise for lacking luxuries."

"But these days are long gone," I shook my head. "Nowadays most single people only can afford shoeboxes."

"Tell that to any of those cut-throat landlords," Shop-dude grumbled. 

"Oh, I know. I got one of those myself. Stingy bastard. There is mould everywhere because the walls never really dry."

"Eww. Why don't you complain to your local council?"

"I fear if I do, it will get fixed but it will impact the rent to a degree I can no longer afford."

Shop-dude nodded. "This area has become rather affluent over the last couple of years. I heard new tenants are paying almost twice the amount of rent as long-time residents do."

"Fucking yuppies," I agreed. Those people got high-rise city jobs, wore designer clothing, but moved to cheap districts because being 'urban' was hip. Then they complained about the lack of artisan coffee shops and safe subway stations and BOOM! The block got a complete makeover, and rents rocketed sky-high. "Perhaps I should move to a flourishing suburb and complain about the lack of burning fucking rubbish bins there." 

Shop-dude laughed. "Perhaps we should get a caravan and do exactly that. Let those money-bags feel what it's like to be made feeling unwelcome in your own territory." 

"Amen to that," I nodded, imagining rolling up in a beaten-down 1960s VW with graffiti on the doors at my parents' doorstep. Perhaps I should add that to my list of life aspirations. 

"I have another viewing tomorrow," Shop-dude added. "Place is promising. It's a council building, so there won't be any peace and quiet. The place is old and rundown and the flat is seventh floor, but there is an actual lift, which is quite handy."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you." I nodded. "My place is a council building, too. They're not bad by default. I only have a handful of questionable neighbours." Like Mr Weselsky, who is an utter nightmare, "but most of them are genuine, honest folk, trying to make a living." 

Shop-dude nodded. "My thoughts exactly. There is nothing wrong with having only little money and trying to get by on a low income. Money doesn't improve a person's character. Rather, It's doing the opposite. I'm glad I didn't have to grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. Whatever I achieved in life, it was through my own, hard work," he smiled. 

I remained quiet. Mum and dad were rather affluent, and he would most likely consider me a silver spoon child. Jimin and I went to good schools, did our fair share of after class programmes, and even had private English lessons (In which he paid attention and I didn't). I would have had the same opportunity to study abroad, had I chosen a parent-approved field, instead of 'wasting' my time with underground rapping. 

Instead, there was nothing but tears and arguments, until I dropped out, moved out, and started to live the working-class life. A decision, that I started to regret as of late. 

Rather involuntarily, my thoughts drifted back to Kim Dasong and the phone call this morning. My greed had cost someone else's job. Perhaps, if I studied harder and buried my music dreams sooner, I would have my own company now, hiring people instead of getting them fired. 

"I need to rethink my whole idea of a career," I sighed, completely out of nowhere. 

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Shop-dude sighed, looking at his knee. The chicken and beer were long gone, but we kept on swinging like we were a pair of teenage girls. 

"W-what exactly happened?" I asked carefully. I knew a car was somehow involved in this, but that was that. 

Shop-dude sighed louder. "That's a conversation that requires a new pack of cigarettes and a lot more beer." He nodded towards a close by shop. "Let's go."

Previous Chapter
Overview
Next Chapter