Sifting Through Arthur C. Clarke’s DVD Collection in Colombo

Yes, when this story gets to where it’s going, I end up in Arthur C. Clarke’s armchair. I promise. 

“Private,” said a security guard, rushing over. He gestured to the barricade that blocked the private road.

“Did Arthur C Clarke live here,” I asked, and while he nodded, he spoke almost no English. We stood on our tiptoes, and took another picture of the rooftop.

“Private house,” he said again.

But when we turned to leave, he stopped us. He grabbed us. He wouldn’t let us leave. He pushed us down the alleyway, rang the doorbell, and guided us inside what was called “Leslie’s House.”

And it turns out, to get inside, all it takes is a small bribe tip. And Arthur C. Clarke’s house hasn’t been touched since he died five years ago.