Daily Life (7)
Today is the day I head to Seoul. It's been a while. Ever since I got involved with Skylight, most things get handled right here in Hwaseong, so there's rarely any reason to go. Why go today? Because my pockets are empty and I need to hit an ATM. When you're starving, you do what you have to. Can't I just do a bank transfer or have something delivered? Evidence is terrifying. Never underestimate this country's administrative and financial networks! Of course, even cash deals can get you caught if they trace them. But there's one thing that really pisses me off. Our Skylight Bank is such a rip-off—ten percent on anything over ten million won, but fifteen percent on anything under. They even take half on amounts below a million. Feels like they're telling you not to withdraw anything less than a million. What about a hundred million or more? Probably cheaper. That's my dream. Carrying a hundred million in cash! Imagining a vitamin box stuffed with fifty-thousand-won bills, I took public transit and arrived in Gangnam.
Is it the real deal today? I don't know about anything else, but I hate that dismissive look, like they're staring at trash. Still, no one told me to get lost. Different guy, maybe? Buzz—buzz— "From Gangnam Station Exit 1, walk toward Yeoksam Station, turn into the alley past the Donghaedo sign, then the fifth flowerpot." What the hell is this long-winded instruction, some kind of treasure hunt? I was coming from Yangjae Station, so I grumbled the whole way. Why is this so far? I ended up circling Yangjae Station, Gangnam Station, and the Kukkiwon intersection three times. Occupational hazard—I always start with suspicion. But when I reached the spot, there was nothing. Donghaedo turned out to be an all-you-can-eat sushi place. I loitered near the tax office for about ten minutes, checking for undercover cops, then walked over slowly. Tonight's dinner is sushi. I kept telling myself I was just going to eat at Donghaedo. Then I passed it, made a natural turn, and headed for the fifth flowerpot. Nothing there? Still nothing? I got closer and spotted a black plastic bag wedged between the fifth and sixth pots. Ah! That's it! I grabbed it like it was mine and walked back out, pretending I'd taken a wrong turn. This setup was practically begging for an accident. But risk is our destiny. The Skylight Bank guys were thorough—they'd packed it all in old bills, with a few thousand-won notes mixed in here and there. Whatever. As a mammal who needs to eat to survive, I thanked God for providing my daily bread and headed home.
I bought some things I wanted on the way and rode the village bus back, both hands full. But as I walked, an uneasy feeling crept over me. Something felt off, like someone was watching. My heart started pounding and wouldn't calm down. Why is this happening? Why? I set everything down and checked my phone. The moment I did, the anxiety vanished—like someone coming off withdrawal and taking their fix again. The reason was right there: Skylight. By now, if I don't check our God's app, my hands shake, my focus slips, and the anxiety hits. We call this addiction. In English, it's overdose. God! I think I'm addicted to You. I dropped my bags for a moment and mechanically refreshed the board, waiting for messages. Nothing. I need to get home before the withdrawal kicks in. Once I drop this stuff off, it's time to explore Skylight~ Waiting for someone to find me and for Automatic No. 2 to become my limbs. I tried sending "Hello?" today too, but nothing. Damn it!
Today the weather is so hot it's basically a sauna. On days like this I'd love a watermelon, but it's too far to go buy one. I'll just crank the AC and lie around the house. I've got a problem lately. I need to become one of those people with a tropical-forest body temperature soon, but my growth is too slow. Sparkle told me that moving a lot of product and making withdrawals raises your temp, but he wouldn't give me the details. I went looking on Skylight like someone who needs drugs but has no money. Still, only people with normal human temperatures showed up. While I was exploring, I chuckled. Because now I was starting to recognize usernames on the board. Seeing familiar IDs made me wonder if I'd become a regular myself.
Suddenly? I was grateful, but you don't see this kind of loyalty in this business. It made me a little uneasy, but I replied anyway. I had to say thanks. "Haha, this is sudden. I'll accept it gratefully. But the amount is bigger than we agreed."
Of course! I'm always looking to recruit more limbs. But post-payment would be tough. Too nerve-wracking. I'd be terrified of getting ripped off. "Sorry, but that order's already finished." "Ah… I didn't explain properly. You don't have to do post-payment." "Do you have product?" "Yeah, how much do you need?" "Then can I get fifty grams of the original and seven-fifty?" Of course I could! But something felt off—the conversation was too clean. Still, I couldn't turn it down, so I agreed. "Yeah, that's possible."
I supplied fifty grams three times at one-week intervals to the loyal Busan guy. I was already preparing to kneel before the executive who ruled Busan like Admiral Yi Sun-sin. He'd let me live, right? I just hoped he'd only give me a warning. Then I wouldn't encroach on someone else's territory so brazenly again. Though if he contacted me, wouldn't I cross the line once more? I waited anxiously, but after that I never heard from the Busan loyalist again. No word from Busan at all. That brief transaction with the Busan guy ended just like that.
The weather's hot, so the best thing is staying home with the AC on. Whenever withdrawal hits, I just check Skylight once and—hey, this is paradise. No need to go wandering around pretending I'm on vacation. Lately I've been feeling a kind of malaise. A guy living alone in a countryside house pays for water, electricity, utilities, food, clothes—maybe a million won a month. Even if I buy and wear nicer stuff, it's still only around two million. I grew up with nothing, so I don't even know how to spend. Last month's cash from the flowerpot will last me three or four months. Do I really need to work so hard to move those big chunks? Under Skylight's gaze, I drifted further from the normal-temperature humans. I really did nothing but laze around. I spent about a month living that comfortably. Around the time the tropical-night sisters were retreating, a powerful typhoon was, as usual, heading our way. It'll probably go to China. Or Japan, I thought, casting rice and reading fortunes by myself. But this typhoon brother apparently didn't like our Joseon and threw a curveball, skipping over Jeju Island—the breakwater of the peninsula—and slamming straight into the mainland. It was the first time I'd regretted moving into this house. The slate roof over the master bedroom wouldn't stop a bullet storm, and my yard was one step away from becoming a water park. If I'd been in a high-rise apartment, at least I wouldn't have worried about my place flooding. I dug drainage ditches, bailed water, and fought the flood until the master bedroom stayed dry. Only the master bedroom, though. I was exhausted. Time to rest. The next day the typhoon brother flexed his muscles once more, then left—probably worried about muscle loss—leaving behind trash and branches in the yard. I sighed, but it was my house, so I started picking things up one by one. The moment I opened the workshop door, every curse in my vocabulary poured out. Ah, fuck! Tools, scales, and supplies were scattered everywhere, and the most important thing—the stash—was gone. What do I do? I immediately sent an SOS to my brother. "Hyung, it's me. I need to talk." "Four thousand in two weeks." "Yep." I couldn't even get the words out. "Hahahahahaha I knew you'd be like this. If you tell the boss about this, you're dead." —Flashmob (47.6)
Sparkle laughed again while listening to my story. But there was something chilling about it. The feeling that if I'd been under him, he wouldn't have let it slide. "Then what am I supposed to do? Did it get washed away? Blown away? It wasn't me. The typhoon did it—force majeure." "Did you sign a contract with the boss? Force majeure gets a pass? You crazy bastard." "What do I do? I don't have the drugs, and how am I supposed to come up with the money for them?" "Well—" Even my strategist and Gabriel, Sparkle, was no help. "And from now on, carve this into your body. Credit is worth your life. Pay it back first and think later." "Then do a job." This was the same thing I'd heard when I first met God, wasn't it?