There. My ears are all dead. Now you try."
Three times I repeated the movements she'd made. Slowly, carefully, but nothing left me with the impression that my ears had died. The wine was rapidly circulating through my system.
"I do believe that my ears aren't dying properly, " I said, disappointed.
She shook her head. "That's okay. If your ears don't need to die, there's nothing wrong with them not dying.

Auteur: Haruki Murakami