Damn soju.

I can still feel the burn in my stomach, and my throat stings with every damn burp. I knew I shouldn't have drunk that much, but I'm not very good at doing the right thing. Of course not. I shuffle along, slower than usual, because the damn world seems to be spinning sideways.

"Great, Se-mi... great idea."I say to myself softly."Let's see how long it takes you to fall on your face."

I shove my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt. I don't even know if they're my pants or if I switched them with the ones from the other day. Everything smells of dirt and cigarette smoke, but I don't even care anymore. It's cold, but the wind on my face helps clear my head a little. Not enough.

I look ahead and the street seems to go on forever.

Seoul is noisy even at this hour. Neon lights, cars passing without looking at anyone, people laughing from inside bars where they'd never let me stay for long. My mouth is dry. I wipe the cold sweat with my sleeve.

I have to get to the shelter before it fills up. Shit. That means walking for about three hours because I don't even have a damn bus ticket.

"Lucky me."

I laugh alone, a little bitterly.

I remember the cheap bottle of soju I bought at the corner store. The guy at the store already knows me and doesn't even look me in the eye. He didn't ask me anything, just charged me and left. I don't want to talk either. I drank too fast. It was my dinner and dessert, I guess.

My legs feel heavy. Every step against the sidewalk sounds like a drum. The soju rushes to my head in waves. Sometimes it makes me sick. Sometimes it gives me courage.

"Come on, Se-mi. You have two fucking legs. Use them."

No taxi, no bus, no miracle. Just me.

I look around. I see a couple holding hands. The guy buys the girl a coffee. How nice. How useful it would be to have someone. But then I remember I don't even know how to stay alive on my own.

"Fuck romance."I spit the sentence out and almost stumble.

I hold my bag like it's my life. Well, it basically is. I have everything in there: an extra change of clothes, the least-ripped shirt, a cheap charger that works when it wants, my ID, some loose change (which I already spent on soju), an old comb. The only thing I have. I tuck it further into my shoulder so it doesn't open.

The road is long. I cross streets without looking too far. A motorcycle honks at me and I raise my middle finger.

"Yeah, yeah, fuck off."

The wind ruffles my long bangs, which cover one eye. I don't care. My hair was a mess after the pillow fight on the floor of the bar where I worked last night. Well, I didn't work anymore. They got tired of my attitude, they said.

"How sensitive."

The floor shines wet from the drizzle earlier. I try not to slip. I'm dizzy, but not stupid. I'm not about to fall here and have what little I have stolen. I grit my teeth.

I take a deep breath.

The night air is cold and dirty. But at least it keeps me conscious.

I think about what awaits me: a place with bunk beds, fluorescent lights, the receptionist who looks at me like she knows everything about me and hates me for existing. I don't care. As long as they let me put my bag in the locker and assign me a bed.

Bed. What a generous word for what it is.

But it's better than the street.

"Well, Se-mi. Be grateful for your blessings."

I feel like laughing and throwing up at the same time.

My cheap boots make a hollow sound against the pavement. I walk slower than I want. The soju hits me in the stomach like a punch. I want to stop at a convenience store to buy water, but I have nothing. I've checked my pocket twice already, and the coins are gone.

Damn.

I stagger past another guy. We glance at each other. I don't say anything, but I have a hand in my pocket where I'd hide something sharp if I had one. I have nothing. Not even enough for a damn knife. Just fear.

Sometimes that's enough.

The guy walks straight. I keep going.

The city is a monster. But I'm used to it.

My side hurts a little. It must be from carrying boxes all day. I don't have insurance, or a doctor, or even a fucking ibuprofen. I feel old at 25.

"But alive. I guess."

I keep walking. I pass a restaurant that's closing. The smell of hot food makes me nauseous with hunger. I turn my head.

"Don't look, idiot. There's nothing there for you."

I laugh. The sound is hoarse and sounds fake.

The dizziness increases. I walk slower.

There's so much more to walk.

I remember the shelter. If I'm late, there's no bed. I'd be out on the street. But my legs hate me. Every step weighs like lead.

"Move."

I breathe heavily. I feel a lump in my throat that isn't just the soju.

Why the hell do I keep going? Because there's no choice.

"Come on, Se-mi. You're good at running away. Do the same with your misery."

And I keep going. One step. Another. Another.

The city doesn't want me, but it won't swallow me alive today.

Not if I can help it.