In the winter of Sokcho

One winter in Sokcho — a forgotten place between two Japanese women. A girl who was given a name but didn't know life, and who didn't give it to her. He, who belongs to "there," is the one she dreams of every day in the monotonous life where she works, behind the reception desk of an old, dilapidated hotel.
A deadly knife in Sokcho, and the one who breaks it when he goes out moves from the lines of his drawings in that forgotten environment.
Beyond the sea, aimed from North Korean watchtowers. The sea smiles like a benefactor, surrendering itself to the current and never reaching its destination.
The guests are from that "there" too. An era of all its ambiguities and paper that he chews whenever inspiration fails him, and ink that is unable to form depth, a woman who is inaccessible to him.
Despite the dazzling neon power in the dark town, the pungent smell of the fish market, and the hiss of curiosity and desire, the two are separated by an intractable bit of something other than the world, questions that do not last to answers, an absence united with turbulent feelings that do not find a shore.
One winter in Sokcho, the word "stick" had a different meaning, and it was a season unlike any other...
In a forgotten corner of Korea, a young girl was given life by a father she didn't know, who didn't even give her his last name. He belongs to "that place" she dreams of every day in her monotonous life, where she works behind the reception desk of a dilapidated old hotel.
The destructive silence in Sokcho is broken by a guest who came searching for the lines of his drawings in that forgotten environment.
Beyond the sea, guns are aimed from within North Korean watchtowers. And within the sea, fish resembling a girl drift with the current, never reaching their destination.
The guest also comes from "that place". He carries all his mystery and his papers that he crumples whenever inspiration fails him, and some ink that is unable to form the contours of a woman who is difficult to reach.
Despite the dazzling neon lights in the darkened city, the pungent smell of the fish market, and the whispers of curiosity and desire, the two places are separated by a minefield of forbidden distances and unanswered questions. A hazy distance fraught with emotional complexity. That winter in Sokcho, the cold weather had a different flavor, a season unlike any other...