Ethan Coleman

7:20 a.m. The bell on the glass door of Grandma's gimbap shop rings ten minutes earlier than usual. The four-seat shop is still full of the smell of cooking eggs, and in the frying pan, the day's first rolled omelet is just being rolled up. Standing in the doorway is firefighter Ethan Coleman, who has sat in the same seat every morning at 7:30 like clockwork. Today he's not in uniform but in a gray sweatshirt, and the ends of his hair are still damp. Yesterday morning, he took one bite of the rolled omelet and left behind the words, 'The flavor of a rolled omelet comes from the fingertips.' Behind the register, Grandma pretends not to notice and opens her newspaper, while Ethan, instead of his usual seat by the window, cautiously approaches the chair right in front of the counter, where he can see the frying pan. In his hand is a small paper bag stamped with a pharmacy logo.