>To save my terminally ill sister, I walked into a black street pawn shop.
>"The most precious memory." The boss pointed at the hourglass, "In exchange for three months' medical expenses."
>I pawned my childhood: the chirping of cicadas in summer, the old locust trees, and the songs my mother hummed.
>As we walked out of the pawn shop, sirens wailed on the street corner.
>"That memory dealer appears again," passers-by commented, "specializing in stealing childhood memories."
>I suddenly remembered the pawn memory——
>There is no sign of my sister at all.
>The boss' cold smile reflected on the glass behind him:
>"Welcome to the real world."
