Free autographed copy of 1984

The next morning Alice asked who it was that was sleeping on our couch. “That’s George Orwell,” I said. “I ran into him on the way back from Callahan’s last night. We got to talking. I invited him in. Offered him some whiskey.”

“I get the picture,” said Alice. “When he wakes up, could you ask him if he’d autograph our copy of 1984?”

“Please, Alice. Show some respect. George is a guest in this house,” I said.

“It doesn’t hurt to ask,” said Alice.

George Orwell woke up around ten o’clock and shuffled to the door of my study. He tapped lightly on the door (which was ajar) with his knuckles. “Good morning, I guess,” he said.

“Ah, good. You’re up. Would you like some coffee?” I asked.

“A spot of tea would do the trick,” he said.

Later when we were sitting at the kitchen table sipping Earl Grey, George said, “Glenlivet is really rather smooth.”

“You’re doing precisely what you told me not to do last night,” I said. “Here we are sitting around drinking tea talking about whiskey.”

“Don’t blame me,” said George. “This is your story. But there’s already been two improvements.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Well, discussing tea and whiskey is better than gabbing on about coffee and beer, if you ask me.”

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