The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Rebecca Curtis Reads Haruki Murakami

The New Yorker: Fiction

00:00

A Monkey Shares a Beer

"I treasure the names of those seven beautiful women i loved," says a monkey. He plans to use these memories as my own little fuel source, burn on cold nights to keep me warm", he adds. "Without that heat source, a person's heart, and a monkey's too, would turn into a bitterly cold, barren wasteland where not a ray of sunlight falls." The inn in Tokio does not provide bottled beer but offers canned from vending machines.

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