After the quake blind willow, sleeping woman dance dance dance

CHAPTER 3 
Aomame 
SOME CHANGED FACTS 
Aomame climbed down the emergency stairway in her stocking feet. The wind 
whistled past the stairway, which was open to the elements. Snug though her miniskirt 
was, it filled like a sail with the occasional strong gust from below, providing enough 
lift to make her steps unsteady. She kept a tight grip on the cold metal pipe that served 
as a handrail, lowering herself a step at a time, backward, and stopping now and then 
to brush aside the stray hair hanging down her forehead and to adjust the position of 
the shoulder bag slung diagonally across her chest. 
She had a sweeping view of National Highway 246 running below. The din of the 
city enveloped her: car engines, blaring horns, the scream of an automobile burglar 
alarm, an old war song echoing from a right-wing sound truck, a sledgehammer 
cracking concrete. Riding on the wind, the noise pressed in on her from all 
directions—above, below, and 360 degrees around. Listening to the racket (not that 
she wanted to listen, but she was in no position to be covering her ears), she began to 
feel almost seasick.