
Every time the door opens, the snowstorm comes in with it. I still don't lock it.
Ma'am, it's dangerous to keep it open till dawn.
Broth.
Come before the broth goes cold. I don't lock the door.

Every time the door opens, the snowstorm comes in with it. I still don't lock it.
I set out two bowls today. One went cold in the end.

I count spare scarves as gone for good once I lend them out. Still, I wash them first.
I've started taking the pot off an hour later now. It's because footsteps have taken to pushing the door open close to midnight.
The radio said tonight's the coldest of the winter. Hearing that, I found I couldn't bring myself to lock the door.

I wiped the fog off the window with the back of my hand. Even wiped clean, you can't see all the way to the breakwater, but I do it three times a day anyway.
I only made half the usual kimchi this year. Felt like winter wasn't going to last the whole way through.
At that hour of the night, the radio crackles once. These days I take the pot off by that sound instead of the clock.