One

Cars pass me not ten metres from where I'm standing, across a drain and some sort of a safety barrier.

Well, the road I'm on is empty. I haven't seen a car pass by for as long as I can remember. Standing on the concrete pavement, I look left first, then right.

This isn't because of safety. There were never any cars to begin with.

Yet sometimes, how I wish there were.

Lying with my torso in sunlight and my legs in the shade, I holding my forearm to block the light and pull my sleeve back to check the time. My wristwatch says 9.58 a.m. Time works differently here but the device strapped to my hand is useful nonetheless. I use it as a yardstick to measure my hazy concept of the “current time”. I get up off the ground and step onto the road just in front of me. Will it be left or right? I think I'll walk right.

The characteristic sound of my footprints is the only sound I can hear. My feet step steadily onwards.

Left, right, left, right.

Before I notice, the afternoon's wasted and it's already 6.37 p.m. It's time to get some food. Following the striped white line on the endless road, I try to alternate my footsteps. Bitumen first, then paint. Bitumen, then paint. Black, then white, then black, then white. Slowly getting into the rhythm of hopping and staggering, the all-too-familiar feelings of wild excitement and dread begin to seep in. It's always like this. I can't stand it.

There it is. The two-storey building I pass by everyday on my exciting itinerary. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I search them for loose change. Let's see, how much do I have now? Two-fifty. Enough for a decent meal. Chicken & Mushroom or Beef & Tomato? Decisions, decisions. Maybe Beef & Tomato. Walking closer and closer to the vending machine under the small overhanging roof of the restaurant. Into the slot the coins go – I think I'll have Chicken & Mushroom. Down drops the cup. Then the hot water, followed by the little bits of dried food and flavouring powder. "Beep", the timer for three minutes starts counting down.

Tonight's a little colder. I pull my coat more tightly around myself. Two minutes and forty seconds left. I'm not an impatient person; I guess I have conditioning to thank. Watching the sky above slowly turn from a desaturated blue to a shade richer and darker, I wonder to myself, is this retribution or liberation? I sink into my thoughts, only to be interrupted by a small beep from the vending machine.

My noodles are done. Pulling open the little spring door, I take the noodles off the little preparation platform. No chopsticks or even a spoon, as usual. These things look like cups, so I use them like cups. The first touch scalds the tip of my tongue but I continue tilting the cup. Slowly chewing the food in my mouth, I close my eyes and let the whole day run through my mind – then run out.

Breathe in, out, in, out.

11.02 p.m. I'm feeling a little lethargic. Tonight it's the road. I'm tired of sleeping under a flickering light bulb. I leave the cup on the third step up the flight of stairs to the second floor. I walk past the sign printed in Korean and sit down on the road.

I position myself between the light from both street lamps and ponder whether I should sleep perpendicular or parallel to the road. Finding no answer to this seemingly trivial dilemma, I stand up, spin around a few times and lie down.

I end up sleeping at an odd angle to the road. Compromise.

Closing my eyes, I smile and slowly drift into sleep –

revelling in my perceived solitude.

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a/n: This is the first time I've written anything like this, so please review constructively. Thanks.