The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Rebecca Curtis Reads Haruki Murakami

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

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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