The taxi's radio was tuned to a classical FM broadcast. Janáček's Sinfonietta — probably not the ideal music to hear in a taxi caught in traffic. The middle-aged driver didn't seem to be listening very closely, either. With his mouth clamped shut, he stared straight ahead at the endless line of cars stretching out on the elevated expressway, like a veteran fishermen standing in the bow of his boat, reading the ominous confluence of two currents. Aomeme settled into the broad backseat, close to her eyes, and listened to the music.

1Q84 by Haruki Murakami