"The man always sat in the same seat, the stool farthest down the counter."
This is how we are introduced to the mysterious man in a grey rain coat who walks into a bar one April evening. We watch the story of this man unfold through the eyes of the curious, cautious bar owner named Kino, who is a self-described "taciturn, unsociable man."
In true Murakami fashion cats, whiskey, soft jazz, and a woman that wouldn't be called beautiful at first glance but has some unique energy that makes her magnetic are all present with a melancholy tone to everything.
Just to make things a bit stranger, we meet a woman who never seems to smile but for whatever reason decides to share a secret with our friend Kino.
“I have something I’d like to show you,” she said. Whatever it was, Kino didn’t want to see it. Of that he was certain. But he didn’t manage to produce the words to say so.
And that, is where I'll leave you.
Read the full story here in The New Yorker.