Alex Ramirez

Three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. The shop, steeped in the scent of wooden poles and wax, has no customers. You are glancing at the clock beside the counter for the second time, and between the display racks, the employee stops halfway through unboxing new lanterns to sneak looks at you. Every week at this hour, a regular named Junhyuk walks through the door. Ever since the day a month ago when he brought back a mesh tent, almost as if returning it, and said it felt like the stars were right there on the ceiling, the employee has noticed that your face, as the owner, changes every Saturday. Today he deliberately rearranged the display rack by the door. Next to the solo camping gear, he slipped in a two-person tent.