Down the dark alley, I return to Jimin’s place, swinging the plastic bag containing a pork cutlet I saved for dinner. The room is dark and quiet. “Jimin, are you asleep?” Nobody is there. She never stays out this late. Without washing my hands or anything, I just lie down on my belly, and open a book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, one of the books Jimin begged me to read. I was probably drawn to Museo Rosenbach, not a very well-known band around here, because of her recommending this book. Goddamn, this book is thick. She would grin if she saw me struggling with it. Where is she? On the back cover, there is this passage: “The Earth has skin, and the skin is riddled with several diseases. One of the diseases is Man.” After turning a few pages, I am overwhelmed by sleepiness and worry about Jimin’s whereabouts. I can’t help it. I can’t help being the squirming skin disease. Even if the whole Earth self-destructs tomorrow, I’ll just pull a blanket over myself. I’m the Sleepy Demagogue.

Aldebaran

Aldebaran

Lately, Jimin Sunbe seems to be plotting something with other Sunbes. Jimin spent the past four days protesting at the day-and-night nonstop rally after the activist Lee Hanyeol passed away. She’s that kind of bleeding heart. She resigned as the PR manager of the Feminist Students’ Association group to go join the laborers at the Guro workshop. She gave up on that mission after her mom threw a fit, but she’s still a troublemaker, big time. For some reason, she tries to embrace all the illnesses of the world with her bleeding heart.

During finals week, I never see Jimin come back to the apartment. She says she’s been studying late at the library and in the activity room, but I don’t know if she’s even taking the exams or eating enough. She won’t answer me when I ask what she’s been up to, or if she does, the answer is curt. I want to hassle her into telling me what’s going on, but I can’t. I’m close to academic suspension myself. I turn in my German Grammar exam with almost nothing filled out, and the professor rejects my late paper. The electives aren’t too bad, but even in those, I’m not sure what kind of grades I’ll receive.

* * *

At Instant Paradise, the owner seems to have taken to me, so she doesn’t care if I don’t come to work during finals. She even copied the key to the café for me to keep, telling me to feel free to come study there. Tonight she’s standing on the street with Nana in her arms.

“The stars are beautiful tonight,” she says. I look up into the sky. When I walk, I only look down at the ground. Frankly, I find the people who ramble about the stars pathetic.