Saved by the dog. The café owner stops by with Nana and immediately starts rambling about her fever. When I ask her if I may be dismissed early today, she lets me go without hesitation. Person or animal, we all should take care of ourselves. I thought about telling her I quit, but Sungyun, that virus in human form, butts in to talk to her about the grocery and alcohol delivery, so I decide I’ll wait a few days.

Merry Gloomy Christmas

Merry Gloomy Christmas

I fold up some toilet paper to squeeze into my panties. I have to walk slowly and awkwardly to keep the blood from leaking into my pants. I imagine that there is a philosopher slowly strolling through this city, brooding over deep philosophical thoughts, probably also constipated or on their period.

Jimin is probably also brooding over her deep thoughts or is on her period. When we started living together—well, ever since I started leeching off of her, to be specific—our period cycles started synching up. Together, we bleed profusely, struggling with the pain, and argue over the slightest provocations. We share sanitary pads and philosophy. Jimin doesn’t know that she is the only member of humanity I love and emulate.

I wish there were more vacation days, red days, on the calendar. More of the admirable people on earth need to die off fast. People will like it; poor folks will be like, “Woo-hoo, another national holiday! Let’s go for a picnic at the amusement park or in the tangerine groves!”

Christmas is not far off, so cloying Christmas carols fill the street. Variety stores are filling up with trees with twinkling lights and people picking out holiday cards. A child is laughing hysterically with a stuffed bear in her arms. Another child, probably her friend, presses the heart-shaped button attached to the bear’s ear, and the hymn “You are Born to Be Loved” plays and gets stuck in my head. A red-eared child on a bike barely dodges a bus and pedals backward. I almost fall to the ground, shoved by the crowd. I had thought about buying a small poinsettia, but not anymore. I escape the main street to take a detour through a less crowded alley. The university’s sound tech people are setting up a stereo system, so there must be a concert happening later. From the back of the half-finished stage, a man with a guitar calls out to a yellow-haired guy, yelling something about the amp and whatnot. There’s a small sign that says DONATION-BASED CONCERT, but it’s too dark for people to notice it. Even if, and that’s a big if, Jimi Hendrix himself were to show up, people wouldn’t notice. Nobody wants to hang out here.