Life is hard.

He watches the smoke flutter through the air. The New York City smoke. And he wonders if by any means it could and would become part of the Seoul atmosphere. The smoke from his cigarette.

So he takes another drag of that welcome breath of Death and sends it fleeting all the way to Seoul. To where everything that mattered to Choi Seunghyun was. Away from everything that could never be what was. Away from Brooklyn.

But Brooklyn wouldn't be half as bad.

At least not if he still got her, no.

But what is now is Brooklyn. And Sandara Park was then. Was Seoul. And all his promises of Love spoken by lips kissed by Death were nothing more than cigarette butts littering the streets of his Brooklyn neighborhood.

And Tabi's Dara...she is no more than the undiscarded ash on his ashtray. Or so he has heard.

And so another drag to flutter to Seoul.

To his friends. No. His brothers.

To the mother he will never come home to again.

To the father who will never call him son again.

And to Dara who will never be Brooklyn but Seoul. As it always will be.

Another drag to send another broken piece of his soul to Seoul.

As he exhausts another stick to the filter he brings himself on his feet and discards another promise of Love on the streets of his Brooklyn neighborhood.

Life is hard.