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"A pack of Marlboro Reds please," he said while placing down a bottle of black americano.

I glanced up at him, scanning over his slightly chubby cheeks, droopy cat eyes and smooth face, devoid of wrinkles and any signs of aging.

"May I see your ID?"

He rummages in his pockets, and holds his card up to me.

'Min Yoongi

9 March 1993', it read.

"You've got a lovely baby face, Mr. Customer. You don't look a day over 18," I said with a smile on my face.

"You ought to stop smoking, sir. I'm sure you know it's bad for your health," I continued, as I checked his shopping out.

"I don't think nagging your customers is part of your duties as a part-time convenience store worker," said customer quipped with a hint of impatience.

I simply smiled, deciding to pull out a card from beneath the counter for special customers like him.

"Here's a quit smoking hotline, sir. I wish you good health and happiness," while handing over his shopping."

"Stop working so hard, 알바생(albasaeng, meaning part-timer)" and with two long strides he left into the dark night, leaving a lingering sound of the wind chimes as the only proof that he was ever there.

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SOME TIME LATER

I straightened, glancing at the clock above the staff room. 03:27, it read. I sighed as the long night passes as slowly as ever. I go out for some fresh air, grabbing my lighter and tobacco from my pocket, rolling myself a cigarette.

It is something that I brought with me from my time in London. Somehow, a pre-rolled cigarette is always not as comforting as the hand-rolled ones, ones I'm familiar with.

I exhaled, enjoying my two minutes of relaxation. I get lost in the lights of a quiet Seoul city, hearing distant car honks every now and then.

"I thought you said smoking was bad for you," came a masculine voice.

Looking over, I see Mr Baby Face, the customer from earlier. He looked as if he wanted to purchase something from the store again.

"We all have our vices," I said, stubbing my half-finished cigarette out. "I'm aware I'm a hypocrite. What can I help you with, Mr Customer?" I asked with a tired smile, leading him into the store.

He grabbed a few snacks, a few bottles of black americano, a bottle of soju, and a packet of tangerines.

As I checked his stuff out, this time it was he who started the conversation.

"That quit smoking hotline must be useless if you still smoke," he said lightheartedly.

"I wouldn't know. No one has ever called the hotline," you replied.

"How would you know?" he asked, slightly curious.

"That's because I'm the hotline. That's my number. I was hoping to find a buddy who would quit smoking with me, so we can give each other motivation."

"That's quite a risky thing giving out your number to strangers like that. A bit unprofessional too, if you think about it. Is your boss aware you're taking advances towards customers like this?" he asked.

Indignant, I shot my head up with a mild glare. "It is not my intention to 'take advances' towards customers. Believe it or not, I actually have good intentions in mind when I started this project," I said, pausing what I was doing. "Would you like a bag?" I asked him pointedly.

"Yes please"

"but no, my boss doesn't know about my project," I said in a softer tone, looking downwards. "I wouldn't imagine him to be supportive, as it could decrease our sales if I were ever successful."

He grabs his bag, and left. I was still lost in my thoughts when my phone suddenly vibrated in my pocket; an unknown number.

"Hello? Who's this?" I inquired. "You have your first call on your smoking hotline, 알바생(albasaeng). I looked up, there he was, plastic bag hooked over one wrist, carrying the hotline card, and the other hand pressing his phone to his ear. He looked at me, with a faint smile on his face.

"Let's quit together, 꼬마야 (kkomaya, meaning kid/kiddo)"

By the time I overcame my shock, he was gone into the silent streets, again. 

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