Gwisins of the New Moon’s Eve
by Russell Hemmell
We walk out of the subway. The first train of the day has left us in a Gangnam still asleep. The last party-goers stumble back to their dormitories, in the freezing haze of the morning. The pervasive smell of yakiniku reminds me I had no dinner last night. I look around at the early morning with a deep sense of disorientation. This is something Miyumi is familiar to- not me, never me. At 5.30 AM, I’d normally be in my deepest slumber, while my roommate thrives and revels.
But not today. Today we’re together in the twilight hours before dawn, when everything is possible, and the world doesn’t watch.