In “The Quiet American,” Graham Greene writes about what it’s like to be sitting next to a bomb when it goes off:
Two of the mirrors on the wall flew at me and collapsed half-way. The dowdy Frenchwoman was on her knees in a wreckage of chairs and tables. Her compact lay open and unhurt in my lap… A curious garden-sound filled the cafe: the regular drip of a fountain, and looking at the bar I saw rows of smashed bottles which let out their contents in a multi-colored stream—the red of porto, the orange of cointreau, the green of chartreuse, the cloudy yellow of pastis, across the floor of the cafe. I gave it her and she thanked me formally, sitting on the floor.
In Boston on Monday, 78-year-old Bill Iffrig is the man in the red tank top who flopped to the pavement on Monday after the first of two explosions ripped through Copley Square during the final stages of the Boston marathon. He was steps from the finish line when the bomb next to him went off, but his description captures the same sense of shock and disorientation:
I got down to within 15 feet of the finishing apron and just tremendous explosion, sounding like a bomb went off right next to me… The shock waves just hit my whole body and my legs just started jittering around. I knew I was going down and so I ended up down on the black top.
Iffrig, a resident of Lake Stevens, Washington, says that he’s run 45 marathons and that Monday’s race was his third effort in the Boston marathon. Just 15 feet from the finish line when the first improvised explosive device ignited, Iffrig described the blast as “deafening” and said that it made his legs turn into “noodles.”









