The Haruki Murakami story "Yesterday" in the current New Yorker disappoints me. It feels like it has been been churned out to meet the deadline. All Murakami stuff was there, but they are jaded and repetitive and lacking in the magic that makes a Murakmi story distinctive and different from other writers.
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Why do the odds of asteroids hitting Earth keep fluctuating?
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Have a nice day!
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