A Wild Sheep Chase (The Rat, #3)

by Haruki Murakami

Sex with her with her ears exposed was an experience I’d never known.

Peak Murakami, right here.

“Well,” said I, “suppose I utterly obliterated my consciousness and became totally fixed, would I merit a fancy name?” The chauffeur glanced at my face in the rearview mirror. A suspicious look, as if I were laying some trap. “Fixed?” “Say I froze in place, or something. Like Sleeping Beauty.” “But you already have a name.” “Right you are,” I said. “I nearly forgot.”

Heh, nameless narrator humor...