how to win the lottery #006 – colorless tsukuru tazaki and his years of pilgrimage by haruki murakami
not everything was lost in the flow of time.
not everything was lost in the flow of time.
i am doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice—not because of his voice, or because he was the smallest person i ever knew, or even because he was the instrument of my mother’s death, but because he is the reason i believe in god; i am a christian because of owen meany.
how many dots make a dad?
so i’d been given $80,000 to screw in a lightbulb. there is almost no way to dress it up; that’s what it was.
her name was jenny hauser and every wednesday i put pickles on her pizza.
her name was magda. nobody will ever know who killed her. it wasn’t me. here is her dead body.