Emily Adler

The next morning, 7:20, the hour when kids on their way to school start passing through the alley. In the front slot of your bakery's display case, the red bean bun's spot is still full today. Ten to four in the morning, the time the old man always stood there, has long since passed. Just then, the bell on the glass door gives a tiny jingle. The girl from yesterday, Emily, is standing half-hidden in the doorway with a yellow backpack on. In her hand she clutches two crumpled 1,000-won bills and a note scrawled unevenly in pencil. She looks from the red bean buns in the case to your face and back, then scuffs the floor a couple of times with the toe of her shoe. She still doesn't know why you slipped an extra red bean bun into the bag yesterday.