steering a boat along a stream. I head toward a restaurant with my new girlfriend—or perhaps a new companion—arriving in a high-end sports car. > Bonds Gallery

The water is clear, and the air is fresh.
It feels incredibly cool and refreshing.
I am traveling along this waterway in a small boat.
Suddenly, waves roll in from ahead.
They shove my boat forcefully toward the bank.

The boat is swept toward the shore, then it leaps slightly, spins in a circle, and lands back in the water, carried by the force of the current.
As it lands, the bow dips partially underwater.
I worry that if water pours into the boat, it might sink.
Nevertheless, I continue steering upstream.

Fortunately, the boat doesn’t sink; it manages to keep moving forward, heading upstream.

People are playing baseball in the water.
It doesn’t look very deep.
My destination, as I steer toward it, seems to be around the area of ​​third base.

I skillfully maneuver the boat, making my way further upstream.
Third base looks like a low, three-seater bench. Reaching that spot means I’ve achieved my goal.
The people playing baseball seem to think so, too.
It’s done—I’ve made it.

The ground is covered in gravel. The water is clear and pristine.
The water flowing by reaches about the level of my shins or knees.
I steer the boat into the current flowing to the right of the bench.
Then, with a firm effort, I push the boat even further upstream.

Though the water level drops, it remains so clear and transparent that the gravel beneath is fully visible.
With greater skill and focus, I continue to navigate even further upstream. I have traveled much further upstream than I had originally intended.
The stream has grown too shallow; the boat can go no further.
The water is now extremely shallow—barely a centimeter deep.

I step out of the boat and glance at my companions nearby.
They are busy eating noodles, pretending not to notice me getting off.

.

I know the path my soul must take.
I am traveling with my girlfriend and another person—the three of us, moving forward together.
As I go, I leave behind small, dark clumps of mud.
I hadn’t left any such markers on my previous journey.

I drop these little black mud clumps onto the ground at regular intervals.
It is a kind of toll—a price I pay as I make my way along the path.

...

I return from somewhere, accompanied by my younger sister.
Beside me is a new girlfriend—young, pretty, and pleasantly plump.
The three of us are on our way back from somewhere.
My sister, exhausted, has fallen asleep.
I have been carrying her on my back.
"Come on, give me a kiss right here," I say to my girlfriend.
She lovingly plants several kisses on my cheek.
I had actually hoped for a kiss on the lips, but I still feel quite happy.
"Do it again..." I say.

Just then, I notice my mother watching us from the house where we used to live in the countryside.
It is dark—evening has fallen—but I know she is watching.
I feel a sudden, slight sense of embarrassment.
"Look, my mother is watching us."

I lead my girlfriend deeper into the neighborhood.
As for my sleeping sister, I know my mother will take care of her, so I don’t give it another thought. - "Shall we go grab a bite? It’s a home-style restaurant—you know the one, right?"
- "Yeah, that place is really good."

I take my girlfriend to the restaurant.
However, the place—a home-style eatery located across a small bridge—looks empty.
Is it closed? Just as we’re about to turn back, I spot the owner serving a table.
We head inside.

The floor of the restaurant is slightly sloped.
There are tables set up on raised platforms to the left and right.
My girlfriend heads toward the back, but it looks like those spots are already occupied by other customers.
It seems we’ll have to sit at an empty table on the lower level.

- "Table for five," I say, placing our order.
The owner immediately fills the table with a massive amount of rice—he just piles it right onto the tabletop. It’s a huge portion. It seems they serve the rice first, and the side dishes come later.

I sit with my back against the slope, effectively using the raised platforms on either side to mark off our own space.

...

It looks like an office or a classroom with a high ceiling.
It’s dark. Desks are arranged throughout the room, each occupied by someone—perhaps students or office workers.
There seem to be about 30 to 40 people.
It’s dark; it feels like evening or nighttime.

I’m standing near a pillar on the far left.
- "Hey, try turning on the lights!" someone calls out.
I look at the pillar and see a switch with a label on it.
I flip the switch—it seems to activate the ventilation system.
I try another switch; this one turns on the fluorescent lights. I found it.

I can see the switches and the layout of the space, even in the darkness.
Because of this, I don’t feel particularly flustered.

I take a seat at the very back of the room.
There is another student sitting to my left.
The student is watching something on a monitor, but when a loud noise suddenly erupts from it, they quickly switch the monitor off.
It feels a bit like an academy—a place where people go to learn things.

I settle into a spot in the last row and go to sleep.
Others are here, too, lying down on their desks to sleep.
They all seem like complete strangers.

..

I’m riding in a car belonging to someone I’ve never met before.
I press a switch on the dashboard.
A long, horizontal vent slides open,
and a powerful blast of air-conditioning rushes out. It’s freezing—the air is so cold that a white mist even begins to form.
"Oh, sorry!"
I apologize immediately.
I’m sitting in the front passenger seat, while the person I’m with is driving.
The vehicle is a high-end sports car—a brand-new, incredibly fast model.

The car is speeding along the shoulder on the far left.
There’s a two-lane road to our right, but the driver has chosen to drive along the shoulder instead.
"Hey! If we keep driving on the shoulder, we might hit something that suddenly pops up!"
I shout to the driver.
Whether they hear me or not, they keep driving at breakneck speed.
They skillfully maneuver around obstacles—like footbridges and other structures—that appear along the shoulder.

I’m genuinely amazed at how they manage to drive so fast while dodging everything in their path. However, I feel anxious and worried, fearing that if an obstacle appears ahead, we won’t be able to avoid it and will crash.

Before long, a mound of earth—a small, earthen hill—comes into view.
"Ah, we’re going to crash into that," I think to myself.
My friend, who is driving, slams on the brakes.
Fortunately, the high-end sports car remains undamaged; it comes to a stop just inches from the earthen mound.

I get out of the car and look for a way to exit toward the sidewalk on the right.
Luckily, I spot a path that leads around toward a nearby park.
I gesture for my friend to come out this way.

Instead, my friend parks the car right next to the park.
It seems the plan is to leave the vehicle there for now and retrieve it later.

My friend and I start walking. We are in an alleyway lined with restaurants, and it’s the dinner rush. Grateful for the ride, I want to do something to show my appreciation.
"First time in a place like this, right?" I ask.
"I’m sorry," my friend replies.

My friend stands there, lost in thought.
They are blocking the path, getting in the way of people moving through the alley—though they don’t seem to notice. A few sturdy young men look visibly annoyed by my friend’s stillness.
I quickly guide my friend away, intending to take them to a Korean restaurant I know well.

It’s called "Manna Sikdang"—a great Korean spot—and I want to treat my friend to a meal there.
But my friend walks right past it, heading deeper into the alley.
It seems they intend to eat somewhere further in—a place that looks quite familiar to them.

"One order of dumplings and one bowl of *kkeok-kkeok* noodles, please," my friend says. I find myself wishing I could have a bowl of noodles, too.

While my friend eats, I calculate the total bill—it comes to 28,000 won.
But I can’t help but feel I’m being overcharged.
"Isn't this a bit absurd?" I ask. The owner, however, demands 50,000 won instead.
I’m dumbfounded. Come to think of it, this place is tucked away in a rather shabby, hidden spot.
Looking at the owner and the staff, I realize they’re all thugs—imposing, burly men.
Oh no... I start to feel a bit afraid.

Just then, my friend—having finished his noodles—gives a signal.
Suddenly, four small vehicles come speeding toward me, one after another, leaping into the air.
They’re greeting me. These belong to the thugs who run this place.
Caught off guard, I find myself greeting them back.
"Next time, just acknowledge them—they’ll know who you are."
It turns out my friend brought me here on purpose to introduce me to these thugs.
The last vehicle is missing one of its wheels.
The wheels themselves are thick and large—big, rubber tires. Come to think of it, the vehicles look round and adorable, much like steamed buns. Each one is fitted with two wheels.