On his flat rooftop my neighbor is tending to his beds of green onions which lie in the midst of dusty sofas and a broken TV set. The smell of grilled meat from the restaurants is attended by some noisy salary men in uniform who drink away the concerns of the day. In the back room of a dusty drugstore displaying cockroach traps and Korean herbs, a little girl practices Beethoven on piano. Coffeeshop lovers drink their coffee in rocking-chairs. The two ageless smokers walk home, each figure forming an L as though bent in an endless bow.
Large pumpkins hang on a wall among giant harsh leaves sprawling on trees.
My landlord comes home, parks in front of the gate and dusts his car with love while his wife polishes his shoes with care. He'll shine tomorrow. The night is coming. From the terrace and over the roofs, I see the large electronic screen of the crossroads, like a huge TV, proclaiming in the sky ads for a better life. Red neon crosses also stand high above.