Homer's sailors taste the lotus and forget Ithaca. Bloom, without quite knowing it, samples lotus all morning — a secret letter, a wafer, a soap, a cigar, a bath. His drift through the streets is the modern version of forgetting: not amnesia, but the soft displacement of urgency.
By lorries along sir John Rogerson's quay Mr Bloom walked soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the postal telegraph office.
