EXAMPLE PAGE - EBOOK - TEA GODS - Flipbook - Seite 34
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H. K. O'HARA
practical? Or, am I boring? It could go either way I guess, but I think
I’ll go with practical. Practical is peaceful. When you only have a few
basic colors to choose from decisions are a breeze—and you never have
to worry about clashing with someone else’s colors. No conflict. No
drama. You’re always safe. Either you fit right in or you disappear.
Sinking into the white sectional in his white living room, he opened
his black laptop. Who is this person I’m going to meet today? A poet.
From the U.S. Who likes K-pop. I’ll just do a quick search and see what
comes up . . . What was her name? A letter, I think . . . K? And no last
name, which is strange. He yawned.
Leaning back, he closed his eyes. A picture of a gorgeous shoulder
rolled into the center of his mind. He shook his head, hoping the picture
would roll back to where it had come from, but it didn’t move—seemingly intent on being wherever he was—increasing the intensity of the
pull he was feeling; making that dreaded edge-of-something-unknown
seem closer.
God, I stole a shoulder, he thought . . . I’m guilty of secret crimes
against unsuspecting strangers. I wonder if it’s possible to unclaim it.
To just delete it. And forget about it . . . I guess I could try. No. Not yet.
Maybe tomorrow.
He opened his eyes . . . Okay, the poet from the U.S. with a oneletter name, which I’m pretty sure is K. I should know something about
her or I’ll look like a moron. He searched the name K. The screen filled
up with a list of websites that had something to do with her. Third from
the top was her Korean film and music blog . . . Already been there, not
much information about her at all; and no picture. Had some good
playlists though.
He looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. Just getting out of Seoul could
take me an hour, then begins the hundred miles of highway—so time to
go, he said to himself, closing his laptop. I guess I’ll find out more about
the poet who likes K-pop when I get there. I’ll just ask Binnie. I think
he’s in love with her. Sure sounds that way.
Sliding his feet into his shoes, he noticed that his red sweater—the
only thing of color he owned but wore only occasionally—was hanging
