Kafka on the Shore

Haruki Murakami

so you’re all set for money, then?” the boy named Crow asks in his typical sluggish voice. The kind of voice like when you’ve just woken up
and your mouth still feels heavy and dull. But he’s just pretending. He’s
totally awake. As always.
I nod.
“How much?”
I review the numbers in my head. “Close to thirty-five hundred in cash,
plus some money I can get from an ATM. I know it’s not a lot, but it should
be enough. For the time being.”