Preview

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead - Sylvia Plath  

Myungsoo is sipping coffee.

It’s dark, no sugar no cream. It’s a little too hot for his tongue, and he savors the feeling of numb taste buds as he once again drowns the pink muscle in delectably hot, bitter liquid.

The coffee shop he frequents is popular, with enough of an ambient atmosphere to encourage people to shut up and keep to themselves instead of chattering too amicably, but busy enough to flood the room with the white noise that comes with busy typing from the starving artist sitting at the table to his left and the student frantically flipping pages on his right. At the counter, an average looking barista rings the bell and whispers a name, as though afraid to shatter the spell that fills the room.

Myungsoo closes his eyes and lets this silence fill his mind.

One by one, first the typing of the starving artist, then the shuffle of papers, and finally the dinging of that bell, the noises disappear from his auditory field. And he is left in the coffee house alone.

He loves it.