One aspect of being a writer is to dream of immortality through words.
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Sitting in the lobby of Manhattan’s famed Algonquin Hotel, our conversation veered off on a tangent about one of its most notable regulars, Dorothy Parker.
“You can buy a Dorothy Parker burger here,” he pointed out. “In London there’s a hotel where there’s a Virginia Woolf burger. I’ve always thought that was hilarious.”
Throwing good taste to the wind I wondered aloud, “Do you dip it in water?”
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