〈 Vodka Martini 〉

A woman sitting alone at the bar kept looking at me. Once, twice, seven times. Clear signal. So I gave her the usual: a shy laugh, a turned head, my better profile, a slow sip of martini. When our eyes met again, I held the gaze. It always worked. Tonight, she smiled, picked up her bag, and walked straight over. “You don’t remember me, do you? Lawyer. Jang Min-seok.” I remembered absolutely nothing. “Of course I remember you,” I said. “You just look so much prettier now—” She took my martini, drank it, then leaned in close. A kiss, I thought. I parted my lips a little.

But she sprayed the martini straight into my face. “You asshole.” She was probably right. So I just sat there, without even wiping my face, tasting the drops that had made it past my lips. They tasted lighter. Maybe it was the air. I called for the waiter. “Vodka martini,” I said. “Sprayed, not stirred.” I laughed alone and scrolled through my contacts alone. Then I went home alone. This never used to happen in my twenties. Meanwhile, James Bond in his fifties is still out there getting away with it.