“The huge compound sprawled along both sides of Wireless Road about halfway between Lumpini Park and Ploenchit Road. Bar loved the name Wireless Road. The sound of it fairly reverberated with intrigue and it reminded him of a black and white television series from the fifties called ‘Foreign Correspondent’ that had riveted him as a boy. He could never say Wireless Road without hearing off in the distance the sound of an old BBC radio broadcast, all hissing and static in the background with an ea...rnest-sounding voice shouting out dispatches in an exaggerated British accent from some remote corner of the empire. Of course, the BBC still sounded like that most of the time and he figured that was probably why now everybody watched CNN. Bar didn’t like going to the American Embassy and he avoided the place whenever he could. It just flat out made him jumpy as hell. He had this terrible fear that once he was inside the gates they might never let him out again. Americans have always been keenly suspicious of other Americans who voluntarily chose to live in another country.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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