Doyeon came home quite late that day, after finishing her cappuccino and watching the new movie at the cinema. It was some rambling, dazzling, American romantic comedy, one he had wanted to watch more than she. These films were so perfectly shot her stomach lurched at the flawless way the screen shifted to the music’s beat; the music, always pulsing with some slow-minded, sexy joy, making her feel not herself. Until they walked out of the cinema and she was reminded by the distorted reflection on the glass surface of the vending machines that her life was mundane, and no music connected one chapter to the next, and that her days flipped past with no montages or mise-en-scenes, that they were just supposed to be like that. For her.