Sahidgate, Kathmandu
They were gone, without a word, snapped out, made accidental, isolated like ghosts even from our pity.
After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of whisky in the towel.
“Want any of this stuff? Jordan?…Nick?”
I didn’t answer.
“Nick?” He asked again.
“Want any?”
“No… I just remembered that today’s my birthday.”
I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous menacing road of a new decade.
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Thirty-the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, thinning hair.
……………………………..
So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.
(Excerpt from ‘The Great Gatsby’ by F.Scott Fitzgerald/Page 126)
