After that everybody leaves, even the couple who have been giggling over two cups of coffee for several hours. Eunyong, Sungyun, and I go outside to talk. The two of them, who have worked here for a while, tell me that the tips are pooled and then split. But since it’s my first time getting a tip, I get to keep it. I head to the record store by the university. There’s a record I’ve been eyeing. I hope it’sn’t sold already. I’m nervous. The album cover was beautiful, and the title was glorious. The cover art had a monster’s face with diseased skin and an expressionless man caged inside its mouth. The man is probably the lead singer of the band. They are an Italian art-rock band called Museo Rosenbach, and the album is called Zarathustra. After all those days pressing my face against the display case window, peering at the album, I finally get to own it.

The dark and stuffy café is now filled with the fantastic Zarathustra. Running time: twenty-something minutes. I could listen to this album at least ten times a day, every day from now on.

“Are you just gonna play this record over and over again? I feel like I’m going insane listening to this!”

As Eunyong complains, I narrate, “Behold, I teach you, Übermensch. Man is something that shall be overcome!”

“You’re acting like an intellectual buffoon.” Sungyun replaces Zarathustra with Lee Guanjo’s record on the turntable. “The customer is king. We need to play songs that they like.” Sungyun is supposed to be majoring in Athletics, but he doesn’t look it. He hangs out with the jocks in town who call each other “brother,” but he’s barely taller than me, maybe 175 centimeters. Sporting a buzzcut and wide shoulders, he boasts that he only wears brand-name sportswear and trainers.

“I’ll donate the record here, since I bought it with the tip that should’ve been shared,” I suggest.

* * *