
Rebecca Curtis Reads Haruki Murakami
The New Yorker: Fiction
The Inn
The inn didn't serve dinner, but breakfast was included and the rate for one night was incredibly cheap. The room i was shown to was cramped like the storage area where one keeps foot on bedding. Everything in this inn seemed to be old and falling apart. I doubted it would make it through the next earthquake,. I could only hope that no trembler would hit while i was there.
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