they meet in the sci-fi section of the library, silverfish-infested books lined up in their tattered rows.  (the shelves of wood are termite food.)  both hands reach for same volume – although it might have been the ones on either side, who knows? – but taller guy’s fingertips brush against the coat of dust first.  (the other guy’s uncut nails stop half an inch away.)

only over dinner when shorter guy s for something, anything, to break up yet another argument does he realize they never exchanged names.

(it has been a month worth of heated futuristic discussions already.)

unidentified flying objects appeal to them both, they find. 

maybe because they are unidentified – the way they are to each other; maybe because they fly – how wonderful it would be, getting to see stars bigger than a single dot; maybe because they are objects – the word in english (engrish to shorter guy who hasn’t even been to london, or any further than ulleungdo and jeju for that matter of fact) is unbalanced and shrouded in mystery.

hey want to hear something cool? is how taller guy starts the conversation on a languid late afternoon too stagnant to recall. 

library is closed today, for repairing work, or so the fluttering paper sign informs them.  so a café nearby has to suffice.  (at least the place is darkened, dusty too.)

shorter guy swirls patterns into his iced latte macchiato and momentarily gets distracted wondering what is the point of too many types of coffee.  coffee is coffee, he thinks, like how humans are humans.  but aloud he says, okay sure, why not.

(it has been a month worth of supposed piano lessons already.)

only over divorce negotiations when shorter guy s for something, anything, to fill in the frigid silence does he realize they never exchanged names.

they meet in the sci-fi section of the library, silver structure upon which pristine jacketed books lined up.  (the shelves of metal are ice to the touch.) both hands reach for the same volume – perhaps the misplaced copy belongs on top, who knows? – but this time, shorter guy’s nails screech against new plastic first.  (the other guy’s fingertips pause half an inch away.)