He wrote this book, Murakami - What I Talk About When I Talk About Running. A copy of it lived with me until I momentarily relaxed my rule about not lending books. Now it lives in Los Feliz with this guy you could say I dated, but if you did, you’d be using a generous interpretation of that word.
The guy and I are on good terms because I don’t throw people away, even though sometimes that causes physical pain. Carver knows this, that this is what we talk about when we talk about love.
He doesn’t run anymore, the guy. Something about his knees. He also doesn’t believe in love. Something about his divorce. If the book had a choice, I suspect it would rather move back in with me.