A Man and his Store

Three years ago, when I lived in a small one-room apartment in Shinchon, there was a little shop inside the tunnel-like market near the station. I went there to equip my kitchenette with pots and pans, but they sold much more than cheap kitchen supplies. It was one of those crammed little stores that offered too much at the same time, like a Korean website that is impossible to navigate through.

However, one day I went there to buy hangers. The owner, a guy in his late fifties, told me to wait a second and disappeared in his store. A minute later he came back with exactly what I was looking for. I thanked him and he asked me if I were a student. I said yes, literature translation. He asked me if I liked it and I told him I found it difficult but satisfying at times. That's good, he said and smiled.   

The next time I walked by, he asked me where I was from. We stood in front of his shop and started talking. He had a lot of questions about living abroad and studying in Europe. No other costumers came by and we talked a bit more until I had to leave. Wait a second, he said and went inside again. He came back with a bottle of juice. I already drank a glass, but I don't want to send you away without a gift, he said. 

Before I left Korea I went to say good-bye, but the man wasn't there. I never saw him again after that. That was three years ago. Then, a few days ago, I got off the bus in Shinchon, because I was curious about my old neighbourhood. But to my surprise the market and the whole building that stood above the tunnel were vanished. It turned into a huge construction site. I wonder now, what happened to the man and his store.