The New Yorker: Fiction cover image

Bryan Washington Reads Haruki Murakami

The New Yorker: Fiction

CHAPTER

Shema and Kako Sasaki Sat in a Cafe in the Airport.

Comoda met two women in the airport. They told him that his wife had died, but he said she was alive and well. The three of them went to a cafe for lunch. Commodo drank coffee with no taste at all. His mind couldn't keep up with his body. He felt as if he'd come so far just because he flew. No matter how far you travel, you can never get away from yourself. It's like a shadow and follows you everywhere.

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