murakami, haruki - Norwegian wood

"I will."
I beckoned to the waiter and ordered two more vodka and tonics.
"Remember how, when you came over that Sunday, you kissed me?"
Midori asked. "I've been thinking about it. It was nice. Really nice."
"That's nice."
""That's nice'," she mimicked. "The way you talk is so weird!"
"It is?"
"Anyway, I was thinking, that time. I was thinking how great it would
be if that had been the first time in my life a boy had kissed me. If I
could switch around the order of my life, I would absolutely,
absolutely make that my first kiss. And then I would live the rest of
my life thinking stuff like: Hey, I wonder whatever happened to that
boy named Watanabe I gave my first kiss to on the laundry deck, now
that he's 58? Wouldn't that be great?"
"Yeah, really," I said, cracking a pistachio nut.
"Hey, what is it with you? Why are you so spaced out? You still
haven't answered me."
I probably still haven't completely adapted to the world.' I said after
giving it some thought. "I don't know, I feel like this isn't the real
world. The people, the scene: they just don't seem real to me."
Midori rested an elbow on the bar and looked at me. "There was
something like that in a Jim Morrison song, I'm pretty sure."
"People are strange when you're a stranger."
"Peace," said Midori.
Peace," I said.
"You really ought to go to Uruguay with me," Midori said, still
leaning on the bar. "Girlfriend, family, university - just dump 'em all."
"Not a bad idea," I said, laughing.
"Don't you think it would be wonderful to get rid of everything and
everybody and just go somewhere where you don't know a soul?
Sometimes I feel like doing that. I really, really want to do it
sometimes. Like, suppose you whisked me somewhere far, far away,
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