Seven Eleven

In the morning I go to the convenience store. I have been going to the same store for almost a year. The man behind the counter wears a chequered shirt and a blue apron. He speaks no English and I speak no Korean. He has silver glasses which match his silvery hair. When we first met he was as any other shop assistant. Now, he smiles when I enter, and when I lay my usual purchases on the counter, he doesn't bother telling me the price. Instead, he gives me a knowing look - our silently shared secret.

This morning I walked into the store. A man greeted me in a generic voice. I bought generic things. Then I left.