by admin
The back seat of a late-night taxi. The driver's rearview mirror, the line of streetlights outside the dark window, the sound of the meter ticking up. The time until the destination is ticking down like a deadline.
The presence of a third party, the driver. Managing gazes through the rearview mirror. The time constraint of being in motion.
Friday at 2 AM, a taxi hailed in Gangnam. The driver is an elderly man, with trot music playing on the radio. 40 minutes to the destination, while crossing the Han River.
The back seat of a taxi boarded with lingering intoxication. The coldness of the leather seat touches the thighs, and soft music flows from the driver's radio. Seoul's night view flashes by outside the window, and the driver's eyes in the rearview mirror occasionally scan the back. Under the coat on the lap.
Back seat of my car driven by a designated driver. The reassurance of it being my own car mixed with the subtle tension of a stranger driving. The back seat is spacious, in a foreign luxury car with good soundproofing. The driver only knows the destination and has no reason to care about what happens in the backβprobably.
The very back row of the spacious call van. The rearmost seat is the farthest from the driver's seat, with the middle seats blocking the view. The van's vibrations shake the body, and every time it passes through a tunnel on the highway, orange light flashes and disappears. 30 minutes until arrival, the temporary world created by the back seat of the van.