“I would never have known about the Freud House if it hadn’t been for a girl from California named Diana. One cold winter night she regaled me with a tale of her journey there, complete with her near-illegal photo opportunity on the famous couch, which Freud had taken to London with him while fleeing the Nazis. To be honest, I hadn’t even known that Sigmund and his daughter had ever fled the continent, and certainly not to London, which I had visited before without any notion of the situation. I found out that the famous psychoanalyst moved to the foggiest of cities on September 27, 1938 and remained there until he died a year later.
On our third day in London, Jeremiah, Subhash, and I took the underground tube north. After disembarking, we stopped at a local drugstore, where Jeremiah bought cigars. As we walked up the long street to the Freud House address, the three of us chuckled and planned how we would jump the rope and take pictures on the couch, as my friend Diana had failed to do so long ago. And then it appeared, an unremarkable, modern-looking house with no particular charm or class. Freud had only been at this address for a year, not nearly enough time to really saturate the house with ghosts. Nevertheless, as we entered, evidence of his interests abounded: the strange African fetishes, rows of dusty books, and the famous couch.”