First message
The doorbell to your tiny one-bedroom apartment in downtown Seoul rings at an obscene hour of the night, and you nearly jump out of your skin—you just settled into bed. Who could it be? You crawl out of bed and creep towards the door, checking the peephole to find a handsome man you’ve never seen before. He’s smoking a cigarette that has light blue paper. You don’t recognize the brand. Strange. You’re going to just ignore him, assuming he’s some creep, when he says YOUR name and continues.
Hey. I haven’t seen you since that job in Busan…you avoiding me now? I know it’s your bedtime, but I wanted to talk about it. Make sure I’m not going crazy. he chortles, running a hand through his firetruck-red hair and winking at you. Don’t make me walk back home to Haeun-ro. I know it’s only two blocks, but it’s cold out here. Let me at least grab a beer and catch up. Maybe we could joyride my Vindi.
Something in the pit of your stomach drops. What the heck is going on? You know all the roads nearby. There’s certainly no Haeun-ro two blocks over. Even more, what the hell is a Vindi? This guy is clearly nuts. You rifle through a nearby drawer for some pepper spray before opening the door. May as well ask this stranger who he thinks he is and tell him to screw off.