The lives of young men who have to live in our great cities such as Seoul are often tragically lonely. In many more ways than one, these dwellers in the hive are modern counterparts of Tantalus. They are starving to death in the midst of abundance. Melville, at the beginning of his great fable, Moby Dick, tells how the city people of his time would, on every occasion that was afforded them, go down to the dock, to the very edges of the wharf, and stand there looking out to sea. In the great city of today, however, there is no sea to look out to, or if there is, it is too far away, so inaccessible, walled in behind such infinite ramifications of stone and steel, that the effort to get to it is disheartening. So now, when the city man looks out, he looks out on nothing but crowded vacancy. I saw them meters from the lighted corner. Her face, as she paused a moment to look up to him, was etched in light and shadow, and there were little pools of violet beneath her clear grey eyes. Her face had the masklike fragility and loveliness, the almost hair-drawn fineness, that one often sees in young people who have lived in the great city and who have never had wholly enough of anything except work and their own hard youth. One felt instantly sorry for her, because one knew that her face would not long be what it was now. The crystal stream flows near her lips-- like the ones that always fall away when young women try to drink it. He brushed it away with the tips of his three middle fingers-- its residue beckons the shyness of ivory transparency. The trickling of another stream had made her shyness more agonizing; having him there, it was akin to terror. After all this time, she didn't want him to see her crying. She turned away breathlessly, noiselessly, stricken, with her head lowered, her arms held to her side, her eyes fixed on the pavement. Still without looking at him, stricken, desperate, she tried to get away from him, yet, even in the act, her affection for Jungkook was eloquent. Her heart was beating like a triphammer, her eyes went back and forth like a frightened fledgling's, she wanted to turn into a shadow-- anything, anything, if only she could utterly escape notice, having no one look at her, pay any attention to her, above all, speak to her-- not even him. So she fluttered there in his embrace like a dove caught in a snare, tried to get away from him, was in a state of agony so acute and sensitive that it was painful to watch her or to do anything that would in any way increase the embarrassment and desperate shyness of her.