Road north


I’m reading ‘The Quiet American’ by Graham Greene and in it the main protagonist, Fowler, says of himself in Vietnam:

When I first came I counted the days of my assignment, like a school boy marking off the days of term; I thought I was tied to what ever was left of Bloomsbury square and the 73 bus passing the portico of Euston and spring time flowers in the local Torrington Place. Now the bulbs would be out in the square garden, and I didn’t give a damn.

The bus is still running but the portico long gone. Bloomsbury feels along way away. 

2 thoughts on “Road north

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