Cheeseburger, Fries, and a Vanilla Shake
Friends have often seemed surprised by the things I remember. Dates. Songs. Places. Tiny details from fifty or sixty years ago that most people would probably forget entirely. Sometimes I’ll mention an old restaurant, a particular afternoon, or the exact model of a car someone drove, and people look at me as if I’ve performed some kind of magic trick. Honestly, I’ve never thought of it as anything remarkable. Perhaps part of it comes from living alone here in Korea for so many years. Nostalgia becomes a kind of companion after a while. You sit in coffee shops. You walk through the city late at night. You hear an old song or smell something familiar drifting from a restaurant, and suddenly the past returns with surprising clarity. Some people collect photographs. Others keep journals. I suppose I collect memories. And there are certain memories that remain vivid because they carried enormous importance at the time, even if they seem small now. Like the first time I went to Mc...
