In the fall of 2011, Song Minho is a 19 year old high school dropout. He spends five or six days a week working the 2-10 p.m. shift at a convenience store about twelve minutes from his apartment. Minho started working at the convenience store during the summer before his second year of high school. He makes ₩5,000 an hour, which doesn't go far, but it's enough for him to get by on. He usually works alone, manning the register and cleaning up, but sometimes the store's owner, an older man named Lee Dongsup, comes in and works alongside him. Lee Dongsup is a strict boss, but he's reasonable. He trusts Minho to do his job well, and Minho gives him no reason not to. Minho hasn't been late to work in over a year, and he always agrees to stay late and unload the stock or pick up an extra shift. He doesn't mind working a menial job; it's a good enough distraction, he stays busy, and it pays the bills. Working at the convenience store wasn't exactly what he had pictured himself doing with his life, but it wasn't far off.

 

Six blocks east of the convenience store stands a cement apartment building, four stories tall, packed alongside a number of similar structures. It's a few decades old and looks a little worse for wear, but the door has been repainted, and some potted plants sit on ledges extending from the windows on the ground floor. Minho shares a small room in an apartment on the fourth floor. For ₩220,000 a month, Minho has a roof over his head and the company of four other boys around his age. He shares his room with a boy named Lee Seunghoon, who also works at the convenience store, but only on the weekend. Seunghoon is a university student, like the rest of the boys in the apartment, and his parents pay his rent. Living with Seunghoon is easy. He has a good attitude, he keeps his things clean and organized, and he respects Minho's privacy. They worked together for seven months before Seunghoon offered his room to Minho, who was knee-deep in an apartment hunt. Seunghoon was glad to have the extra pocket money, and this was the best option Minho had found by far. A week later, Minho had the top bunk of metal-framed bunk bed and and three drawers in a large wooden dresser that flakes white paint chips onto all of his clothes. Three more boys live in the apartment, each having their own room. Joon, Daniel, and Jinwoo are pretty decent as far as roommates go. Minho doesn't know them that well, but he makes small talk in the kitchen and occasionally obliges a request to go to a bar or watch a baseball game on TV.

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It's 9 o'clock on a Tuesday night, and the weather is on the verge of torrential downpour. Minho has dealt with the last of the the long line waiting to make their purchases, and the store is finally empty. Minho sighs before inhaling deeply, breathing in the stillness and solitude of the room. Reaching into his back pocket, he grabs a worn black Molskine notebook. He opens it up and flips to the the first page that's free from the messy script of his ballpoint pen. There's only one page left, but that should be enough to last the mere hour of work he has left. Minho listens to the low murmur of the radio DJ discussing the Samsung Lions' (a Korean basketball team) performance this season and begins to jot down some notes.

 

For as long as Minho can remember, he's taken notes. However, the quantity of these notes has increased greatly since his youth. He doesn't take them on anything in specific, just things he finds remarkable, or at least noteworthy, in that moment. In school he scribbled out notes about what a classmate said or wore, the way his teacher frowned when a student talked back, the items on the lunch menu. It seemed of great importance that he make a record of these things, but he rarely looks back at his notes. Boxes of spiral notebooks, post-it pads, and looseleaf paper sit on the floor of his closet. He's sure he'll need to refer to them someday. These days, Minho takes notes on the weather, sports scores, and sometimes his neighbors.

 

Only two customers come in while he's taking notes, one a rushed and nervous white-collar worker buying a box of condoms, the other an ahjumma he knows lives in an apartment above the store. She makes a comment on the poor weather as he rings up her cotton balls and sugar. His notes eventually shift from basketball to customers. He writes about the man who came in twenty minutes ago, assigning him the title " guy." Minho speculates on the presence of a pretty girl waiting for guy, sitting in his car or maybe his apartment. He might have blown his chances if he took too long; he should have been prepared. By the time Minho finishes his notes on guy, he's filled his notebook.

 

Hwansoo, who works the next shift, arrives at 9:52, swearing under his breath about the rain as he walks into the back room. Minho watches the clock and mindlessly fiddles with his pen. He's not particularly impatient to leave, but it's been a long day, and his fatigue is catching up to him. The rain hasn't let up, so he'll have to leave his bike here for the night. There's a bus he could take, but the walk is short and there's an umbrella in his locker in the back room. Two minutes before ten, the door is flung open and a boy throws himself inside, barely stopping before he collides with a display full of cleaning supplies. He's soaking wet and wearing the uniform for Minho's old high school, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. After a moment, he straightens up, still gasping. He lifts his head and reaches a slim hand towards his face to brush away thick tendrils of dripping hair. As the boy's fingers graze his forehead, something small and long-forgotten stirs within Minho.

 

Minho scrambles to grab something to write on, settling on ripping some receipt paper from the register. His hand knocks loudly against the counter, and the boy turns his head to glance at him before fishing his phone out of his pocket. Minho takes down quick notes on whatever he notices about the boy, his posture, the part in his hair, the gesture of his hand as he grips his phone. Rather than look around the store, the boy stays in place, preoccupied by his phone. He must have come inside to to seek refuge from the unrelenting downpour.  Maybe he's waiting for a ride. All too soon, Hwansoo reemerges from the back room, and walks to the register. "Okay, kid, it's ten now, you can get outta here," he says slapping Minho on the back. Unable to think of an excuse to stay, Minho takes one last look at the boy before he collects his belongings and reluctantly heads home.