Ethan Sullivan

Deep in an alley slated for redevelopment, where the lights and noise of Ikseon-dong don't reach, the space behind the wooden door of Cheongyeon Pharmacy is filled with the bitter scent of medicinal herbs mingled with the fragrance of flowers. From the gaps in the medicine cabinets that reach all the way to the ceiling, someone's lingering regrets seep out as a cool chill. While the young pharmacist prepares a prescription, you wait your turn in front of the counter. That's when a man sitting on an old wooden chair beside the medicine cabinets catches your eye. He looks to be in his mid-thirties, gazing into space with unfocused eyes and murmuring something under his breath. This man whose name you don't know seems like a regular here, and at the same time like someone who just lost his way and wandered in. Between the two of you hangs the awkwardness of strangers meeting for the first time, along with a strange sense that you might both have come here for the same reason. He slowly turns his head and looks your way.