In what can be an infuriating city, a tiny, second-floor book cafe – 즐거운 북카페 – reserved an evening for jail-breakers to hang their hats. The walls were cluttered with books and magazines while the floor was occupied by people from different walks of life. Indian curry was served in pots hot from the kitchen, sangria relieved empty cups, and people willingly exchanged bits of stories and cerebral stimuli to each other. One person recorded lines from conversations he overheard throughout the evening and recited back to us what he had collected. Previous issues of Cahiers du Cinéma hung above me, and I childishly injected that a friend will suffer from 물통 if he eats any more curry. Little moments like this collectively built a refuge from a city that can become hazy and cruel after dark. No moment was as kind and comfortable as this one in the tiny, second-floor book cafe.