어느 사람
Thud. The iron door closed with a sound, leaving behind the cold concrete ceiling that stretched above.
“How did I end up here?” he wondered as he continued walking.
The beautiful evening glow that had spread across the sky earlier was gone.
Only the irregular patterns of concrete remained, and he thought they might resemble the starlight in the night sky.
Following those stars had always led him home.
Pushing through the biting cold that stung his nose, the sense of accomplishment from returning to his safe haven always awaited him. And when his body, once chilled, melted into the warmth of his sanctuary, he would cool himself again with a cold beer. In those moments, the starlight and the concrete ceiling always overlapped in his mind.
From this, he found the courage to face tomorrow once more, and each morning, he could draw the night anew.
Drawing the night was a simple task. No matter the season, darkness always arrived; all he needed was a way to kill time. That was why he started solving math problems. He hadn’t even finished high school, so he wasn’t particularly confident in math, but the first step was the ridiculous-looking math book sitting next to the works of his favorite author.
He would often describe math as "choosing to suffer when the world is already full of problems." That didn’t mean he despised science, though—at least not the kind that dealt with astronomy or the universe. As usual, he sat in a café where a pine tree could be seen in the distance and worked on math problems.
When he did, it felt like the miscellaneous thoughts in his head were hidden behind a great cloud. He disliked when that cloud cleared. Even when the solution was obvious, he deliberately chose a roundabout way of solving it. Pythagoras, this formula or that—he despised answers that came too easily. It felt no different than pressing the "start" button on a robotic vacuum cleaner. That contraption would sweep through the entire house, and the world was becoming overrun with people who couldn’t even clean up after themselves.
He sharpened his pencil, blew away eraser dust, and brushed his chin a few times. When the light outside the window turned pale with the fading sunset, the patterns of concrete emerged in the distance. That was why he always left the café at precisely seven o’clock. Without fail, he followed the lines of concrete. The routine never changed: open the iron door, then close it behind him. And, as always, the beautiful streaks of stars would spread across the entire ceiling.
He liked this life. He loved this night sky. As always, he would solve math problems, walk under the starry sky, and return to his warm sanctuary.
He was that kind of person.
