“along the way i stopped into a coffee shop. all around me normal, everyday city types were going about their normal, everyday affairs. lovers were whispering to each other, businessmen were poring over spread sheets, college kids were planning their next ski trip and discussing the new police album. we could have been in any city in japan. transplant this coffee shop scene to yokohama or fukuoka and nothing would seem out of place. in spite of which — or, rather, all the more because — here i was, sitting in this coffee shop, drinking my coffee, feeling a desperate loneliness. i alone was the outsider. i had no place here.
dance dance dance, haruki murakami