by Haruki Murakami
One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo’s fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
Tell you the truth, she’s not that good-looking. She doesn’t stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is…
this was cute. I’m gonna read it in my fiction class tomorrow!
that guy in class who constantly adds irrelevant and stupid comments during the lecture
I read this in some robot emma swan hybrid voice.