One person is talking and one person is listening.

 

One person is talking and one person is listening.
I've been listening for over ten minutes and twenty minutes.
In the meantime, one person has been listening and never answers back.


Sometimes he responds with a weak smile, or nods his head and responds.

One person seems to have too much to say and the other person seems to have a lot to hear.

When I was working at the company, I looked like a boss and a subordinate, and I looked like a student being looked up by the principal.

It's like a twenty-one-year-old, one-year-old.
It's like a sigh of a mother staring at her academic notice sheet.

 

It seems like a resigned man who is not sad to part with a woman who is determined to part with her.


For more than ten minutes, the woman is talking and the man is listening.


Women sometimes use words like jeola without filtration, and a familiar man nods his head with a hollow smile.
I'm not listening to it because I want to, or I'm watching it because I want to.


Not only me but also five or six people are listening together, but the story still hangs on its tail, chestnuts, and all kinds of stories.


This is what's happening in a quiet and cozy Korean coffee shop.