"Her shoulder muscles were tense and stiff, and the sweat of her armpits had an unusual smell. The awareness that she now possessed a pistol was enough to make the world look a little different. Her surroundings had taken on a strange, unfamiliar coloration.
She undressed and took a hot shower to wash off the unpleasant sweat smell. Not all guns have to be fired, she told herself in the shower. A pistol is just a tool and where I'm living is not storybook world. It's the real world, full of gaps and inconsistencies and anticlimaxes."
1Q84, H. Murakami
----
Chekhov's gun...
No comments:
Post a Comment