“The total is ten thousand.” As I return one of the two ten thousands bills, he pushes it back into my hand. “Why would I take this?” I get annoyed, but Eunyong pokes my side to take it. Oh, I guess this is what they call a tip.

* * *

The Aesthetic Studies professor stops by. He studied Aesthetics at a prestigious university in Seoul. Now that I work at a café, I see people like this up close. I have to hide my excitement when I see him walk in with his fellow professors. I used to sneak into his class because everybody talked about him: he was a true believer in democracy, a great agitator, and a blindingly handsome man. I used to go all the way down to the Fine Arts wing of the university for his lecture, and I learned a few things about Lukács’ philosophy among the slacker Dance majors.

When the party he’s having with his friends warms up, the professor sneaks his arm around Eunyong. Is that okay? He’s allowed to grope her, just like that? Wait, should I have been sitting next to him? I don’t know how I feel about the situation. My head spins.

The professor’s friend picks up a fork and moves his hand off my thigh. He sings into the fork as though it’s a microphone. He sings a new pop song. His voice sounds like he is scratching the plate with a fork. I like the psychedelic song by Sanulim he’s singing, but he’s not getting it right, not even close. A professor next to him butchers Songolmae’s “I Lived in Oblivion.”

“Hey, you over there! You should sing a song,” the Aesthetic Studies professor yells at me, and I decide to obey his command, but can’t think of any song I know the lyrics to. I remember melodies better than lyrics. Everybody in the café is getting impatient with me. Whatever. I’ll sing a song that will elicit applause for sure.

“Having endured the long night, like the morning dew on the grass leaves, more beautiful than a pearl, the sun rises above the cemetery, and the sweltering daylight torments me …” The song is reaching its climax, and I feel great.

“Hey! What the fuck. Stop that!” someone yells at me. The room quickly cools in silence. They all look angry, abruptly sobered up. “I don’t believe this. You’re just bargirls at a shitty bar, okay? I don’t know what you think you know, but how could you sing a protest song here? Some things are sacred!”