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JIHOON ZIPPED THROUGH traffic on the small scooter. A flag on the back flew the name of Halmeoni’s restaurant.

The moped never hit over forty kilometers per hour and was always five seconds away from dying. A deathtrap on two tread-bare wheels. Really, Jihoon wondered why his halmeoni had such little regard for his personal well-being.

He prayed it wouldn’t break down as he veered around a large bus spitting out exhaust.

Here the neighborhood had given in to chain stores. Doors swished open to let customers out. Blaring pop songs followed them. Jihoon bopped along to the beat.

The scooter protested as he turned onto a steep hill, and despite Jihoon’s urging, it gave up five blocks from the restaurant. He debated leaving it in the middle of the street, but dutifully pushed the scooter along. His halmeoni wouldn’t be happy if he abandoned the piece