I tell myself to stop thinking so negatively. But then another part of me barks back: Why do I need to change? Why do I have to choose between this or that? Is that the only option? I choose to run away from making a choice. Not to my father’s place, nor my mother’s place; like when my dad kicked me out and told me to find her, if she’s even still alive. No, I’ll go to both. No, there is nowhere to go. Joy to the world, whether the Lord is come or not … Look at me, I’m full of rambling anxious thoughts. I think this way because I’m anxious, and my anxiety makes me think this way. Why do I get more depressed as the day everyone else looks forward to so joyfully inches closer? I want to live a simple life. I don’t care about finding myself or discovering my sense of identity. I just want to live anonymously. I grab my head and shake it. What’s with me today? What is the origin of this endless anxiety? Don’t think, don’t think—but one thought tails another. This knot of unknowable angst can’t be undone unless my intestines escape my body like it has been autopsied.

I walk along the serpentine, silent alley and come to the dead end. If I’d walked along at my normal pace, I’d already be inside Jimin’s place by now. This is an unusually early time for me to be getting home. When I get home, she’ll be so happy. If I tell her I’m going to quit my job at the café, she’ll put her arms around my neck. Her hug will feel like choking, and I’ll like that. Choke me tighter, I’ll say. But my sneakers are leading me somewhere else, farther and farther away. They used to be white, but now they’re dirty and gray, and they keep leading me somewhere other than where I’m trying to go. They lead me to avoid and evade where I should be going, like I’m a pack of rats led by a magic flute, or those red shoes that made the girl keep on dancing despite her broken ankles.

The alley is quiet. Darkness like a bottomless well. I don’t see a light coming through the tiny record-sleeve-sized window of our place at the dead end of the alley. I guess Jimin isn’t home yet. Where could she be? My legs hurt as I walk farther into the alley to get to our place. I rub my calves. I find myself not wanting to go inside the dark room alone. Should I just wait, squatting by the door, for Jimin? My body trembles, and my hands and feet are freezing.