A Wild Sheep Chase (The Rat, #3)

by Haruki Murakami

The sunlight, the smell of the grass, the faintest patter of rain, everything got on my nerves.

“In a word, no,”

Maybe my life isn’t boring, maybe I don’t really seek a boring life. But effectively it’s the same thing. Either way I’ve already got what’s coming. Most people, they’re trying to escape from boredom, but I’m trying to get into the thick of boredom. That’s why I’m not complaining when I say my life is boring.

Hereabouts, as I said earlier, it’s incredibly quiet. There’s nothing to do around here, so I read books (I’ve got enough books here to last me a decade) or listen to FM music or to records (got a whole lot here too). It’s been ten years since I listened to so much music.

But this time I can be grateful (really, I am) that I don’t have anything to throw overboard. A great feeling. The only thing I could possibly throw overboard would be myself. Not such a bad idea, throwing myself overboard. No, this is getting to sound pathetic. The idea itself, though, isn’t pathetic in the least.

Make sure you don’t forget to have a beer for me.

Good things happen too, good people can make things worthwhile.”

We’d walked in willy-nilly off the street and gotten lucky. The beer really hit the spot, and the food was actually good.

“Most everything you think you know about me is nothing more than memories.”

“Eat shit!” yelled the Sheep Professor from inside. A mighty healthy voice for seventy-three.

“Do you really think this asshole of a terrain even deserves a name?” they replied.

“What it comes down to is that everyone’s poor, but we want to believe that if things work out, we’ll be through with poverty.”

The bird looked vacantly up at the sky with an open mouth and nothing to say.

“Anyway, as long as they’re not frightened, sheep are very cooperative creatures. They’ll just follow the dog without asking any questions.”

Weakness is something that rots in the body. Like gangrene. I’ve felt that ever since I was a teenager. That’s why I was always on edge. There’s this something inside you that’s rotting away and you feel it all along.