Must have been your charms."Tom walked into the room and stood over the couch. His demeanor was calm and relaxed but that could be deceiving with someone like him. The look he gave Harris was cold.Harris tried to sit up but the pain of trying to move suddenly shot up his neck and into his head, leaving behind a splitting headache. He gently sat back down and tried not to move his head too fast."Jesus, Tom. Couldn't you have knocked before breaking down my door?"Harris had known Tom all his life and knew that there was no use pretending innocence. Tom would do what he wanted and Harris had to trust to his brain to see a way out."Just wanted to stop and pay my respects. I never had a chance to talk to you in the hospital since they said you didn't want to see me. That hurt my feelings. I might think that you had something to hide." That smile was not reaching his eyes. It was like the man: cold and cruel."Tom, look. I told you in the hospital that day that I was at fault and that Nicky. John realized he was holding a small black cat with paws as white as virgin Sapporo snow. The little guy looked like a tiny Tokyo taxi driver wearing his cleanest white starched gloves. The cat was talking to John as if this was the most normal thing in the world. John’s jaw dropped and he shook his head hoping the talking cat would disappear. If this was a dream John wanted to get on with having sex with the half-blood princess; she was fucking hot! John looked down at his feet. The cat kept talking to him. If this was a dream how come he could feel the grains of hot sand between his toes? Why when he looked at Aya did she look so real? Why was the black cat still talking? Was the appearance of a black cat a bad omen? John felt like he had fallen into a Murakami novel; everything was obtuse and tangential? Nothing seemed “real” and yet everything seemed intensely “real”? Reality had become a ball of tangled string and his brain seemed to have now way to fathom how to untangle the.
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