ABSTRACT
The 8 of June 1917, was a very hot day in Alexandria, Egypt. The sun shone, the earth steamed, and the sky was blue. In the street were two Armenians and an Assyrian policeman. The policeman had short, straight eyelashes and eight fingers and two thumbs. One of the Armenians was going bald. Apart from this there was only the heat. Waves after waves crowded on to the street displacing one another and then mingling into a harmony of hotness. Just like when Fletcher Henderson and the boys went to town in a jam session, before Fletcher ran to bits. Occasionally one special wave would break through and the heat would be on as when Krupa slays the drums. At the end of the street was a house. It had doors, windows and a roof in red tile. In it little Eric was being accurately and efficiently born into a milieu which suited his prose style down to the ground.
