coffee shop, part 1

A group of girls in their early 20s walk in; the clack of 10 peep-toe zipper high heels across exposed concrete announce their arrival.  A parade of black leggings and bare knees, shorts, and short skirts stalk by. They are all rhythmless angles and the silence of thighs that don’t rub together, too thin or splayed too far apart by bowleggedness to touch each other. V-neck t-shirts modestly cover flat chests to make up for all those miles of leg. Like a rainbow made of uniform blocks they advance, sometimes disrupting the standard rectangle of plain shirt with a breast pocket, or the occasional tiny flower/fruit/animal print. 4 out of 5 have dyed and/or permed hair, shades of brown trending towards orange at the lightest end of the scale. 

The parade stops. Handbags are thrown on chairs, cellphones scattered across two wooden tables next to the plate glass window facing the street. Some legs beat a hasty retreat to the bathroom, others pick their way around chairs and booths to make the groups’ order at the counter. The high pitched squeal of the cashier, “뭐 드릴까요?!” is countered by a response I can’t hear. Minutes later the group reassembles, spitting out rapid 반말 gossip like watermelon seeds as they wait for their coffee.  A vibrating buzzer rattles against the table. With five identical, ice-blended, 5,500 won mocha-frappa-what-the-fuck coffees topped with five identical mounds of whip cream and chocolate sauce, two packs of cigarettes, and four fashion magazines covering the surface of their table, they finally appear ready. 

For what?

They sip. They smoke. They turn glossy pages; envious or indifferent, inspired or so utterly bored that they keep turning just to pass the time. Some take out folding mirrors big as paperback novels, set them on the table, and apply full faces of makeup. Others, made up in full before leaving home, hold their cellphones over head at just the right angle and take self portraits. Inevitably, some of these self portraits will also become the picture takers’ cell phone wallpaper.

The scene goes on for hours. Eventually the coffee runs out, or the batteries run out, or the pages have all been turned and their boredom gets the best of the them. They rise, in pursuit of something else to consume. Maybe food, maybe clothes or cheep accessories from any of the glittering costume jewelry stands that line the sidewalks in Hongdae, Sinchon, and Edae. I am left behind, attempting to consume some pages of my own, though of a decidedly less glossy variety. The cafe is quite again.