Seulgi

The red-brown leaf ceased its struggle to hang on; surrendered instead to the pull of gravity, to the flow of the wind. It floated aimlessly, helplessly, above the taxicabs and sidewalks, caught in a dance of impromptu rhythm and improvised steps until at last, it landed.

The pencil paused mid-, its movement interrupted by the unexpected intruder in its path. Kang Seulgi brushed the leaf away with her left hand before sitting back to examine her progress. She took in the perfectly straight lines forming an exact black-and-white replica of the park around her: the bench she currently occupied, the trees, the piles of leaves decaying nearby, the people strolling along. She glanced up from the sketchpad to compare the nearly seamless recreation with its live, three-dimensional counterpart, and she sighed.

How could she possibly fill a blank page with everything she saw? How could she capture the laughter, the sounds, the sadness and desperation with a mere of the pencil? Could she? Was it possible? The questions hovered above the ever-present ghosts of self-doubt. The need to start over pushed forward; the need to create and recreate until there was nothing left to question. The sheet ripped easily from its spiral binding, became nothing but a crumpled ball of disillusionment, and disappeared into an eternity of discarded attempts.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, in a tone that betrayed his lack of sincerity. His lips brushed against hers in a hasty greeting, and he sat beside her, one hand deep in the pockets of his long black coat, the other holding a lit cigarette. Light brown eyes lingered on the empty-white nothingness of the page. “Is it five already?” she asked, though she was well aware that it was almost six. “Guess I lost track of time.” She looked up then, into her boyfriend’s brown eyes and searched for something to cling to. “Class run late?”

“The professor wanted to talk about my last paper,” he said as the smoke broke free from his lips and escaped into the air around them. From his pocket he withdrew the folded pages of his mid-term. “Check it out.”

The large “A” lay emblazoned at the top of the cover page, written in bright, permanent red ink. She smiled, trying to feel proud, but feeling a detached sense of resentment instead. “Is this the one you barely worked on?”

“Genius comes easily to some people,” and he laughed, flicking the cigarette into the air. His longish-brown hair fell into his eyes, and out of reflex, Seulgi reached over to smooth it back. He smiled at her, kissed the palm of her hand as it grazed past his cheek. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy lately.”

Seulgi looked at him for a long moment, taking in the beautiful eyes that had once held the power to disarm her. Where had that gone, she wondered. What was left in its place? “It’s really okay, Sehun,” she said, knowing that one of these days she would have to tell him the truth.

He leaned over to kiss her and she smiled against his lips, tasting the bitter-sweetness of familiarity. She wished she could take a snapshot of that moment and frame it against the darker shadows of her thoughts. She wanted to whisper, “I love you,” out of habit, if nothing else. But she stifled the impulse and pulled away.

“So, what were you working on?” he asked, sitting back. His gaze landed on the notebook on her lap.

Seulgi glanced down and shrugged, feeling angry with herself for having nothing to show him. How she wished she could make something wonderful appear in the empty surface of the page, just so he could see that he was not the only one with a validated future. Instead, she felt , her failure exposed in the implied absence of motivation. “I... I had something, but I threw it away.”

His laugh sounded mocking. “What’s the point of that?”

Seulgi glanced away, her gaze shifting from the blank page towards the Washington Arch. He was right. What was the point? “Maybe there isn’t one,” she said after a moment, looking at him. “Maybe I’m just trying too hard.”

“Maybe you should just rethink this whole artist thing,” he replied thoughtfully. “I mean, your Dad is spending so much money to send you to NYU, just so you can, what, study art?” He placed another cigarette between his lips. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

She watched him struggle with the lighter, momentarily distracted by the click, click, click of every failed attempt.

“ing thing.”

Seulgi drew in a breath. “I have to go. I have a project for class I need to work on.” The lie filled her with a strange sense of pleasure.

Sehun glanced up, paused in his futile attempt to start a flame. The unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth, and he withdrew it a second later. “I thought we were getting something to eat?”

“Well, you were late. I don’t have time now.”

“That’s real nice, Seulgi. You could have told me you had something to do tonight. I would’ve made other plans.”

She rose, rolling her eyes as she did so. “Well, I’m telling you now.”

He stared at her, as if debating whether it was worth it to start a fight, as if debating whether or not he cared enough to bother. At last, he looked down and shook his head. “Whatever. Can I come over later?”

The question hung in the air between them like a truce, and Seulgi decided it was best to accept it. “Sure.”

“Cool. Is Joy going to be there?”

“She’s working late.”

Sehun smiled. “Then I’ll be there early.” He kissed her again. “See you tonight.”

Seulgi stared after him, suddenly lost in what felt like desperation. She looked down at the sketchpad in her hand, resisted the urge to toss it into the wind, to forget for just one moment that her life boiled down to nothing more than empty pages waiting to be filled. Is that how Suho saw her, as a waste of time and money? What was the point, he’d asked her. What was the point of trying to capture the trivialities of life, to freeze the natural movements of the world in blocks of lines and shadows?

The leaves at her feet rustled to life, and Seulgi watched them struggle senselessly against the pull of the wind. She brushed the scattered strands of brown hair from her face, and held the notebook to her chest.

There was no point, she finally decided, moments later, as she started to walk away. No point at all; just the simple, unquestionable fact that this was what she wanted to do.

~*~

The magazine fell on the small circular table, its sound drowned by the constant noise of conversation. Seulgi stared at the cover, its bright pink surface shining awkwardly in the dull, yellow lighting of the coffeehouse. When she looked up, green eyes were watching her expectantly. “I’m sorry, I left my mind-reading powers in my other jeans,” Seulgi said finally.

Park Sooyoung or Joy as she prefers to be called, settled into the empty seat across from Seulgi with a loud, dramatic sigh, and stared at her best friend with mock impatience. “Page thirty-two.”

“Please?”

Joy rolled her eyes. “If you would be so kind, please, as to turn to page thirty-two, please, It would be much appreciated.”

“You could’ve thrown a ‘thank you’ in there for good measure,” Seulgi replied with a smile. “Politeness is overrated.” Joy nodded solemnly. “It goes against my higher purpose.”

“Which is...?” Seulgi flipped open the magazine and began searching for page thirty-two, a task that proved difficult in the face of numberless pages.

“To be brutally honest in every and all situations,” Joy answered simply. “I’ve made it my personal goal to abolish b.s.”

Seulgi smirked and paused in her search. She looked up at her roommate with an arched brow. “Since when?”

“It’s my New Year’s resolution,” Joy declared.

“It’s October.”

“So, I’m getting a head start. Did you find the page yet?”

Seulgi returned to the mission at hand. When she finally found page thirty-two, she stared at the black-and-white ad with confusion. “Lip augmentation surgery?”

Joy puckered her lips so they stuck out as far as they would go. “It’s all the rage,” she said a second later. “I’ve decided that’s why I haven’t landed any good roles in anything; my lips are too thin. I’m thinking a cross between Liv Tyler and Angelina Jolie.”

“Wow.” Seulgi sat back against the chair. “Every time I think you couldn’t get crazier... you speak.”

“So you’re saying...?”

Seulgi leaned forward. “I’m saying you’d look like a freak, your lips are fine.”

Joy frowned thoughtfully. “Well, then, there’s always the circus. Step right up! See the Over-Lipped Lady!”

Seulgi let out a long laugh. “I’m almost tempted to encourage you on that endeavor.”

“You’re a true friend,” Joy said, grabbing the magazine and turning it over so she could look through it. After a second, of flipping idly through the pages, she shrugged. “Maybe it’s my hair. Maybe I should go for something spunkier.” She pulled several strands of reddish- brown hair away from her face and let them slip through her fingers. “Hm,” she said thoughtfully, and continued to look through the magazine.

Seulgi watched her friend with amusement, relieved to be in the presence of such pleasant distraction.

“It’s just not fair that some people get to pull off any look,” Joy said suddenly. “It’s like Kim Jisoo. The girl can try thirty different hair styles and still look drop-dead gorgeous.” She held up the magazine for emphasis.

Seulgi glanced briefly at the plethora of pictures featuring the actress in question. She shrugged after a moment. “I guess some people get to compensate for their lack of talent by being beautiful.”

“Ooh, harsh. I hope you’re not that mean to me when I’m on the silver screen.”

Seulgi stared at her best friend seriously. “You’ve got actual talent.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad you think so.” Joy smiled. “Although, she was really good in Silence Speaks.”

“I haven’t seen that. I just know she on that show ...”

“Guardian?” Joy supplied. “I don’t think she’s bad in it. I think the show’s just cheesy. You can’t really do much with a script like that.”

Seulgi shrugged, not having much of an argument for that, nor particularly caring. She glanced around the coffeehouse, momentarily fascinated by the murmur of conversations. All around her life went on in a giant mixture of words she couldn’t quite distill. Sometimes she wished she could step outside of herself just long enough to experience something other than her own life.

“So, what’s wrong?”

Seulgi turned back to catch Joy staring at her. “What makes you think anything’s wrong?”

“Because I know you. You’ve got that distant gleam in your eye. The one that screams, ‘I hate my life and everything it stands for because I’m an artist and I’m deep like that.’”

Seulgi couldn’t help but laugh. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I’ve got about five minutes left to listen attentively to your every problem before I return to the land of coffee-making. So, let’s hear them, in reverse alphabetical order. Although, I think I can already guess that they all start with the letter S.”

Seulgi looked away from Joy’s inquiring gaze. It was too much, she thought, to sort through every individual strand of bothersome emotion. There were no specific problems, none that she could point to with any amount of conviction and say, ‘There, that’s what’s bothering me.’

 There was nothing, really, nothing but a broken jigsaw puzzle, with all the adjoining pieces scattered randomly across her mind, overturned and undecipherable. She stared at Joy through the silence, and shrugged. “I’m really not sure.”

“Ah, well, maybe I can help.” Joy shifted in her seat, wobbling the table as she placed her elbows on the wooden surface. “Let’s see, your boyfriend’s a self-absorbed dolt, who seriously, seriously, needs to look up words like ‘personality’ and ‘humor’ in the dictionary before ever attempting to have a conversation with another human being. His laugh, on the bizarre occasion when he manages to at least amuse himself enough to elicit the hyena-like sound, is deeply irritating. You’ve been dating him for, what, like two years and I still haven’t figured out what you see in him. He’s cute, sure, in a Fabio meets Steve Urkel sort of way, but I mean, look at you, Seulgi, you’re ing gorgeous. And I’m sorry to say this, but your life is about as exciting as—”

“Okay, I beg you to stop,” Seulgi interrupted, holding her hands up in the air. “But thank you for your enlightening summary of everything that’s wrong with my boyfriend.”

Joy frowned. “That was hardly everything. Then there are your parents...”

Seulgi rolled her eyes and glanced at her watch. “I should go. Sehun’s coming over, and I think your five minutes are almost up.”

“Okay, fine, but we’re not through with this yet. Remember, I know where you live.”

Seulgi began gathering her belongings. “That’s very comforting, thank you. ”

“So, about the lip thing...”

Seulgi swung the backpack over her shoulder and smiled. “You are nuts.” She leaned down to kiss Joy’s cheek. “Be careful getting home. I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t forget to use protection!” Joy called after her.

Ignoring the suddenly attentive glances of the people around her, Seulgi headed quickly for the door.

~*~

Jisoo

The rain fell like tears against the windowpane, distorting the view of the city below. She stared through the streaks of water at the world surrounding her own: New York City stretched out before her like a postcard-perfect image of itself; perfect, even while glimpsed through the flawed gaze of circumstance. She leaned her tall, lithe frame against the wall, and looked away from the window. The outside lights cast rain-patterned shadows across the floor of her hotel room. It was strange how beautiful silence could seem contrasted against the tumultuous reality of her existence.

She had been standing there too long, she knew. She should change. She should get ready for the charity event that awaited her, but motivation eluded her, and the peacefulness of the moment was too tempting to let go of.Instead, she remained by the window, staring down at the world many stories below; at the taxicabs and neon signs; at the people concealed beneath umbrellas, and felt, as always, disconnected; felt, as always, set apart. The questions that always lingered in her mind pressed forward. The questions that hovered in the air at every interview, that punctuated every answer she gave swirled around her head with increasing urgency: How long could she keep this going? How long until she fell apart?

She sighed, her breath staining the glass for a brief instant before fading away. How long indeed. Then came the inevitable knock, followed by the inevitable sound of the door opening behind her. Light flooded her vision, and she blinked rapidly, as her view of the City turned into a reflection of the room. She glanced at herself for half a second, just long enough to catch the glimpse of disappointment in her light brown eyes, before turning around to face her visitor.

Jackson Wang stood in the doorway, his muscular frame blocking the view of the brightly lit hallway behind him. He looked model-beautiful, dressed in the black tuxedo she had picked out for him before they’d left L.A. She stifled a smile at his discomfort. “Jisoo, just in case you didn’t notice, the room came fully equipped with electricity.” He motioned to the light switch for emphasis. Kim Jisoo leaned her back against the window. “Ha ha.” She grinned at her best friend before adding, “You look great.”

“I suppose I do look rather handsome,” he replied, smoothing the sides of his brown hair with his hand. His dark brown eyes betrayed his pleasure at the compliment. “You owe me big time for this, regardless.”

Jisoo smiled, the kind of smile that she reserved for him, and him alone. If only I could fall in love with you ... and the thought made her smile flicker. She turned away from him and walked to the bed where her dress awaited. She stared at it for a long moment, as if doing so meant the same as putting it on. “Do you think they’d really miss me if I didn’t show?”

“Um, please don’t say you’ve changed your mind. I’ve undergone a dramatic transformation on your behalf.” He motioned to his attire. “I was very happy in my track pants before you waved that black-tie invitation in my face.”

“You could just as easily take it off,” Jisoo replied patiently.

“Are you serious?” Jackson looked at her skeptically. “Or is this one of those crazy female things I don’t understand? Like, you’ll tell me that you don’t want to go, so I’ll go change, and then two seconds later you’ll knock on my door wearing your diamond-studded dress and yelling that we’re going to be late and it’s all my fault.”

Jisoo arched an eyebrow.

“I know how you women work. First you confuse us, then you abuse us, and then you seduce us.”

“That’s very deep, Jackson, but I have no desire to seduce you.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. “So, you just want to confuse and abuse me? I knew it. I’m on to you, Ms. Kim, don’t think I’m intimidated by your Hollywood stardom.” He paused for a moment. “So... should I change?”

Jisoo fixed her gaze upon the dress. Tonight, she would be nothing but another recognizable face among many, a star shining no more brightly than the rest. She would spend her evening making small talk with people she’d pretend to remember from prior gatherings; she would smile graciously as strangers showered her in fake admiration; and then eventually return to this empty hotel room and lie awake wondering how so much attention could breed such overwhelming loneliness.

To Jackson, she said, “No,” and sighed. “I said I would go, so I’m going.”

“And here you had my hopes up. I’ll let you get ready then. I’ll be in my room when you’re done.”

He stared to leave, but Jisoo stopped him. As he turned back toward her, she smiled, “I do owe you,” she said.

“Well about that seducing...”

“Nice try. Now get out of here or we’ll be late and it’ll be all your fault.” His laugh echoed in the hall as he closed the door.

~*~

SEULGI

Seulgi lay awake trying desperately to block out all of the thoughts pounding furiously in her mind. She stared up at the cracked, water-stained ceiling above her bed and listened to the familiar sounds around her: the heater creaking in protest of its over-extended lifespan, the sound of Joy getting ready for bed, the out-of-context murmurs of her surrounding neighbors.

Beside her, Sehun snored softly, the sound momentarily drowned by the sudden rush of police sirens outside. She waited until they faded away into the distance, and then her side to face the window. The slivers of light shining through the blinds cast matching shadows across the wall, and she stared at the pattern of prison-like bars for a long time. She wished that Sehun had gone back to his apartment and left her to sleep in peace. She could feel the warmth of his chest against her back. She could hear the soft snores against her ear. She closed her eyes and attempted to shut out his presence, but the effort yielded an unexpected flow of tears instead. She wiped her face against the pillow and sniffled back her emotions. Everything felt wrong, broken; and she didn’t know where to start piecing things back together.

She thought of the many attempts at art she’d cast away lately. She had put so much of herself into every of the pencil; she had tried so hard to express her passion through each movement of her hand. She had failed; time and time again, she had ended up with nothing more than a handmade photograph that conveyed nothing beyond its mere existence. Where was the passion? Where was the risk, where was the edge she was so entirely lacking? She sighed into the darkness and turned halfway around to make sure that Suho was still asleep. She slid slowly out of bed, searched the floor for her scattered clothes, and put them on. 

Casting one last glance at the bed, she opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

Joy peered out of the bathroom at that moment, a toothbrush dangling precariously from . She spoke through a foamy mouth, “At ah you ‘oin uht?”

“Can’t sleep,” Seulgi said in hushed tones, closing the door to her bedroom softly. She walked out into the small living room and lay down on the couch. She concentrated on the sound of running water, of Joy spitting into the sink, of the faucet screeching with effort.

Joy reappeared a few seconds later and watched Seulgi silently. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked finally, taking a seat on the arm of the couch.

“Just have a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“Like?”

Seulgi sat up and leaned back against the opposite arm. “Like the usual. I feel like a broken record.”

Joy remained quiet for a long time, and then slid down onto the couch cushions. Seulgi instinctively moved her legs so Joy wouldn’t sit on them. “I’ll refrain from telling you the usual, then, just to avoid sounding repetitive.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

They sat in awkward silence for several minutes, until finally, Joy spoke, “Okay, screw it. I can’t live like this. Just break up with him!”

“Shhh!” Seulgi kicked Joy’s thigh with her foot. “Are you insane?” she whispered.

Joy rolled her eyes, but whispered, “Look, I know this really hot guy at work that I would love to set you up with. He’s nice, he’s smart, and he makes a mean cup of coffee. Plus, he thinks you’re a bangin’ piece of korean .”

“He sounds charming, really, but no.”

“Seulgi, please drop the deadbeat in there and try something new for a change. I’m sure that once you get some actual good lovin’, your artistic constipation will be a thing of the past. I mean, when was the last time you had an , really?”

Seulgi groaned.

“Look, I’ve told you a million times, you can do better, much, much better, and you deserve much, much better. I’ll break up with him for you.” She started to rise, but Seulgi leaned forward and grabbed her arm, pulling her back down on the couch.

“You drive me nuts,” Seulgi declared, laughing slightly.

“Well, the feeling is mutual. Now, please stop moping and go to sleep, or I’ll be forced to do something drastic. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I’ll go back to bed soon. I’m just going to hang out here for a bit and watch some late-night TV.”

“Whatever.” Joy shrugged and stood up. “Oh, I almost forgot, I don’t have to work tomorrow until late, so I can set up the shop by the Met while you’re at class.”

“Thanks,” Seulgi said, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for her friend’s kindness. “I really appreciate that.”

“Oh it’s no problem, I love selling your paintings to all the clueless tourists. It’s fun.”

“I meant, for everything.”

“Thank me when you’re actually happy,” Joy answered with a smile. “Night.”

Seulgi sighed and grabbed the remote. She waited until Joy had disappeared into her room before clicking on the TV. She stared blankly at the flickering images on the screen, letting their hypnotic rhythm lull her to sleep.

~*~

Jisoo

The clouds rolled by in search of definition, continuously shape shifting, as if afraid to be seen for what they really were. Jisoo sighed softly against the window of the limousine, watching the metamorphosis with a detached sense of fascination. She waited until the crocodile in the sky changed into something undecipherable before lowering her gaze.

“...and the flight back to L.A. leaves tomorrow morning at 8:15,” her assistant went on from her place beside Jisoo. “If that’s too early, I could try to reschedule for a later flight, but--”

“She’s not listening,” Jackson interrupted, and Jisoo looked at him briefly before turning back to the window. “What’s another word for ‘devour’?” he asked, his eyes not rising from the monitor of his laptop.

“Ingurgitate?” Rosé offered, pushing her black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. Jackson made a mildly disgusted face.

“Consume,” Jisoo said, fully aware that it was the first time she’d spoken since they’d gotten in the car.

He did look at her, then, and smiled. “That might work.” The sound of his typing filled the air, and Jisoo pressed the side of her head against the window, closing her eyes.

“Okay, how does this sound?” Jackson cleared his throat. “She was consumed in a whirlwind of passion, completely enthralled by the feel of his lips—”

“What the hell are you reading?”

“Star Wars fanfiction,” he replied. “It’s not as profitable as writing for Hollywood, I’ll grant you, but all the fangirls love me.”

“That is wrong on so many levels,” Rosé said. “Though, I can see where ‘ingurgitate’ might have been the wrong word.”

Jackson smiled to himself. “Actually, I’ve been bored while waiting on the green light for my next project.”

Jisoo arched a brow in his direction.

“I know you’re dying to know, Jisoo, but really, I must beg you to turn off your curiosity. Art cannot be corrupted by the contaminating influence of those above us. We, the few, the proud, the independent artistes, must stand strong against the evils of corporate America, and the temptation of the all mighty dollar.”

“You are so full of it,” Jisoo replied, chuckling. “You just know we’re going to laugh at you.”

“Well, there’s that,” Jackson admitted. “What can I say? I like keeping the world on its toes. I want the posters to read: ‘From writer-director Jackson Wang comes yet another titillating and visionary ride, a suspenseful, edge-of-your-seat adventure about the trials and tribulations of fruit.’”

“Fruit?”

“They have feelings, too, you know. They make fascinating subjects. Also, their actor’s salaries are just within my budget.”

“Rosé, could you please instruct the driver to pull over at the nearest mental institution?” Rosé laughed.

Jackson shook his head and returned to his computer, muttering about Hollywood stars and their inability to comprehend art.

“It’s the Guggenheim!” Rosé exclaimed suddenly, her face pressed so close to the window that her nose was squished against the glass. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“So go,” Jisoo said a second later. “I’ll give you the rest of the day off.”

Rosé whirled around. “Are you nuts? Didn’t you hear the agenda for today?”

“No, she didn’t,” Jackson piped in.

“Jackson, could you tell the driver to pull over?” Jisoo turned to Rosé and looked at her assistant seriously. “Let’s cancel everything for today. I have the flu.”

“No you don’t,” Rosé said, just as seriously.

“It’s called pretend. I do it for a living.”

“You had the flu two weeks ago for that radio interview.”

“A migraine?”

“Two days ago for the morning talk show.”

“Well, it’s back with a vengeance.”

“Maybe you should get your head examined,” Jackson suggested. “Or was that already on the agenda?” He received a sharp look in reply.

As the vehicle rolled to a stop, Jisoo reached across Rosé’s lap and opened her door. The outside world poured in, saturating the air with the pungent scent of city life and the strident melody of people struggling to co-exist. “Watch out for cars, and have fun.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Rosé asked, looking at Jisoo with growing concern. Jackson twirled a finger around his ear.

“I’m fine. Go.”

Rosé shrugged. “It’s your career. I’ll make the calls.” She reached for her cell phone and started out of the car. “See you guys later. Thanks, Jisoo,” were her final words before shutting the door.

“What are you doing?” Jackson asked the second the door closed. “Taking a break from responsibility?”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately. What’s with you?”

Jisoo sighed, not wishing to get into it. Whatever ‘it’ was. “I don’t know. I just feel ...” Lost. She shrugged instead of finishing the statement. “I just need a break.”

Jackson softened his gaze. “Well, Guardian wraps up in a few weeks. You’ll get a chance to relax.”

Jisoo thought of the movie script offers sitting unread on her nightstand and she inwardly sighed. “Yeah...” Her gaze drifted back outside, to the sidewalks full of people moving about their lives. She wondered how many of them had agendas to keep? Perhaps they all did, in their own way. Yet she allowed herself the freedom to envy their anonymity.

The car stared moving again. “Where to?” Jackson asked her, but she ignored him. It was easier, in the end, to watch others live their lives, instead of attempting to give direction to her own. She leaned her head back and surrendered to the view, as stranger’s stories, lifetimes of experiences flew by in flashes of instantly forgotten images: as short films in fast-forward.

She longed to catch a glimpse of something meaningful in it all, though she knew, the way she knew she’d snap out of all of this soon, that there was nothing meaningful to find in the chaos of other’s lives. They were all stuck in the consequence of choices made by a distant, unrecognizable version of themselves. But in those seconds of stolen time, in those rare moments when reality didn’t knock as persistently upon the walls of consciousness, they could at least pretend.