A twenty-seat neighbourhood cinema fitted into an empty unit on the third floor of an ordinary Korean apartment-complex shopping block, photographed from the back row before a screening. The room is small and obviously a converted shop: the original suspended ceiling grid and one boxed-in structural column are still there, the window wall is covered with heavy dark curtains that do not quite meet, and a thin blade of daylight falls across the floor. Five rows of mismatched secondhand cinema seats in red and blue, a modest screen on the far wall, a small projector on a shelf bolted above the door. A folding table by the entrance with a rice cooker, paper cups and a handwritten programme sheet in Hangul taped to the wall. Nine people seated, one taking off a coat. Warm dim light, worn carpet tiles, a fire extinguisher. Real documentary photography of a modest, lived-in place. No real company logo, no real brand name.