“
Naturally, she wasn’t nameless. In fact I’m sure she went by a number of names. At the same time, practically speaking, she didn’t have a name. Whatever she carried— which was next to nothing—bore no name. She had no train pass, no driver’s license, no credit cards. She did carry a little notebook, but that was scrawled in an indecipherable code. Apparently she wanted no handle on her identity. Hookers may have names, but they inhabit a world that doesn’t need to know.
— Dance, Dance, Dance by Haruki Murakami (via thechocolatebrigade)
— Dance, Dance, Dance by Haruki Murakami (via thechocolatebrigade)
