22 Aug 04 Time for a Tiger
Nabby Adams, supine on the bed, grunted. It was four o’ clock in the morning and he did not want to be talking. He had had a confused coloured dream about Bombay, shot with sharp pangs of unpaid bills. Over it all had brooded thirst, thirst for a warmish bottle of Tiger beer. Or Anchor. Or Carlsberg.
Time for a Tiger by Anthony Burgess
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