One hour of playing time and two service extensions later; I was back out pounding the sidewalk. This time there was four of us. I turned to my right and found that familiar face smiling back at me again. My friend was conversing in Korean with the other young lady and they seemed to be going along swimmingly. I searched deep within my brain to find out some buzz words for small talk but she beat me to the punch.

"You sing pretty well," she said. Her English seemed fluent, slightly accented but fluent enough to start a conversation. I shrugged my shoulders, being naturally averse to compliments.

"You're just being nice," I replied.

I had been brought up to be humble. Most decent folk were gracious in receiving compliments and I was gracious to the point of denial; if that could be regarded as grace. I could've won American Idol by a million votes and I'd still be adamantly denying it as the record deal was being shoved into my hands on live television. She laughed and slapped my shoulder playfully.

"Really, you were good," she insisted. The truth was, I could barely remember what I sung. I could hazily recall something about white guys playing funky music and something about a sweet child I never had. All I could think off was a deep shade of red that wasn’t exactly deep red but it came pretty damn close in a visual sense…

“Maroon…”

I couldn’t quite put my finger on it but that was it. Still, I had to make sure.

“What was that?” I asked. She looked at me and for some reason I couldn’t help but fixate on her smile. Maybe it was the alcohol but something about it had me drawn in.

“Maroon 5,” she answered.

I hated that band, or that excuse for a band. I thought they were one of the worst things to come out of 21st century Pop/Alternative Rock. The only musical acts worst than them were the post-pubescents dressing in black, wearing their hair over their mascara-lined eyes, sporting multiple piercings and screaming for Prozac while a generation of listeners go tone-deaf.

“You sing their songs pretty well,” she adds.

I didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an affront to my own musical tastes. I looked back at her and saw that smile once more; it assures me that I’ve been complimented. Her smile persuaded me to give my musical prejudices a rest. At the very least I wasn’t wearing skin-tight black t-shirts and singing about cutting myself to sleep.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I sang that well,” I answered with as much sincerity I could muster. There I was again; denying credit when it was due. Honestly, I couldn’t recall properly or at least that was my excuse. It gradually came back to me and I remembered belting out something to their tune about somebody who should be loved but I thought my singing wasn’t that big of a deal.

“No, you’re good! I like your voice…” she insisted. It seemed that she didn’t reach the same conclusion that I had. So there I was, trying to put one foot ahead of the other on the sidewalk and this young lady with a cute smile is pouring adulation on my alleged singing prowess. I looked ahead to see my friend engaged in what appears to be deep conversation with the other young lady. So I did what came naturally; I changed the subject.

“You look really familiar,” I said in a half-assed attempt to re-divert the flow of conversation. She nods in acknowledgement, “Yeah, I think we’ve met before,” she says. I struggled to remember where and when. “Two weeks ago, Friday night…” she says and I drew a mental blank in my mind. I nodded politely but I wasn’t fooling anybody.

“We were in a restaurant…” she continues. This time, there were disjointed bits and pieces. I could barely remember eating out two Fridays ago but it was far from total recall. I nodded again but I was honest about it. I remembered sitting on a table with a multitude of faces and loud noises…

“I think you were drunk…” she says and then it hits me. I could taste that bitter taste at the back of my tongue, going down my throat and in the depths of my gut. I tasted that wretched, unholy taste and for a moment I felt like heaving my guts out onto the sidewalk but restrained myself at the last moment when I realized there was a young lady walking right next to me. That was the effect that soju had on me. Even to this day I can’t think of it without that sick feeling inside fighting for air. That bitter taste brought back the memories two Fridays ago and then some. Through association; I remembered every damned night when I had partaken of that vile drink and cursed each and every one of them.

“Yeah,” I managed to say weakly, “we were all pretty drunk then.”

She nodded in agreement. Despite the feelings of disgust and sickness I had associated with drinking soju in copious quantities; I managed to put them aside and remembered her sitting next to me that night. There was another guy who fancied her but dropped all the wrong moves and picked up on all the wrong cues. I didn’t think much of him; nobody did. Then again, soju seems to strip away a lot of other things besides intestinal linings.

I took another look at her and any nauseous sensations seemed to dissipate as I saw that smile once more. I couldn’t help but smile back and she laughed.

“You’ve got a cute smile,” she remarked. I was befuddled for a second; when I smiled people often remarked that I looked like a lush. It was fine by me but being called ‘cute’ did throw me off a little. I had came up with a dry quip regarding her seemingly strange tastes in smiles but I decided to let it slide and fade into the recesses of an alcohol-influenced mind.

The rest of the conversation drifted towards small-talk and a variety of fleeting subject matter. We walked a couple of blocks before coming to a stop in front of an apartment building. The other young lady reached into her purse and fished out a key-card. She waves it in front of the scanner below the intercom and the automatic doors swing open.

“Have a good night,” she said before extending an open hand towards me. I gripped it firmly but not too tight in a platonic handshake. For some godforsaken reason; I realized for the second time that night that I had not felt a woman’s touch for quite some time.

“So, what was your name again?” I asked and immediately regretted asking. I kicked myself for not paying attention earlier in the night.

“Kay,” she answered with that smile of hers that made me want to hold on to that hand just a second longer.

“I won’t forget,” I replied before letting go. She walked into the building with the other young lady and I stood there waving until they got into the elevators. It was at that point when I realized that it was back to two of us; me and my friend pounding the sidewalks once more as I fumbled for a cigarette.

“So how was tonight?” he asked before hailing a taxi. We quickly got in and wasted no time in stating our destination.

“It’s alright, I’ve had worst,” I answered as the taxi started moving again towards the direction we were headed.