Time to Become a Romanticist

It's a record breaking day for arctic temperature. A radio deejay sayin' the city is numb like it gets anesthetic injection. 

Now the soul of Seoul gets stuck in a gigantic refrigerator. Snow isn't fallin down. A  bummer to a romanticist who wants to see the snow. 

The bloody sun exits behind Mt Namsan. A bus 405 runs past Liberty Presbyterian Church, moving down to Namdaemun Market. Two black men sitting in the back seat talk to each other. Their accents as thick as Shaquille O'neal's lips.

K walks into a Seven Eleven at the Seoul Station square. Spicy cup noodles, that's what K has got. He pours hot water 95 degrees celsius. Outside the street is minus 14℃.

So it is; 95-14= 81

He finishes eating the noodles and goes out to the plaza. Whoppin' wind feels less whippin'. But the chilly blue sky looks like the face of cold blooded killer.

Three homeless men are drinkin' soju, sitting on the square ground. K gives them some bread from the convenience store. They reveal yellowish sparce teeth. Every homeless man's teeth are all look alike. Their faces are red as if they climbed Mt Everest. Or they might have climbed even higher.

A man vomiting the stinky smell of urine hands K a paper cup. Shakin' his head, K's sayin' he's just had a warm cup of instant noodles. The man turns his head, looking to the right. He wants to say something but gulping down the words. K deems he knows what it is.

Telling them to wait, K walks toward the 7-Eleven. It's at that moment when the snow starts to fall down. Appearing like white doves it circles around. For the first time today the city is being filled with aspiration.

Yes, it's time for K to become a romanticist.