Opening the window, I saw the engineering student I’d gone to the urologist with standing there in the street. He wasn’t much of a drinker to begin with but there he was, dead drunk, and screaming things like “You gay bastard,” “You homo,” “You faggot”—the works. Jesus, the things I live to see, I thought as I dragged my slippered feet downstairs, whereupon the bastard slapped me in the face as soon as I got close enough. Something about me trampling on the sincerity of his love and how I needed to pay the price? He screamed about how he was going to tell my family I was a homosexual and a rag so spoiled I could never be washed clean. What the fuck is this bullshit about my family? I thought, then realized I’d fended him off a few times from visiting me at home by claiming I lived with my family. Jaehee came down in her pajamas and mumbled, “Is this shit over yet?” Ignoring the neck-grabbing going on in front of her, she started to smoke. The engineering student pushed me off, went up to Jaehee and said, “Nunim, listen to what your younger brother did to me,” and then went on about how many men I went around having sex with and the sex positions I liked and how I had love handles but no ass, to which Jaehee’s lack of response prompted him to grab my neck again and scream, “You’re going to get sick and you’re going to fucking die,” over and over like a bad rap song. I yawned and replied:

—You should be a contestant on Show Me the Money.

He screamed a bit more and collapsed to the ground in tears.

—Loving someone is not a crime!

—No, loving someone isn’t a crime, but you doing this right now sure is, a fairly big one in fact . . . All I did was sleep with you a few times before dumping you . . . I think you may be overreacting just a little bit . . .

As I consoled him, Jaehee kept bursting out with tiny-fart laughs before helping him up to his feet again.

—Hey. Let’s go for a drink.

And before I could stop them, they went off arm in arm, leaving me behind. When I tried to follow, she waved me off and told me I should go home.

She came back in a little less than an hour and said everything was taken care of.

—You’re a pro. How did you manage to calm him down?

—It was nothing. I pretended to listen to him and waited until he was well and truly drunk. Then put him in a cab.

“Look at this,” she added, showing me her phone; she’d taken photos of his student ID and driver’s license. His address was in Gaepo-dong, near Gangnam. Another detail caught my eye.

—Damn. He lied to me about his age.