george harrison · the beatles · 1963 · historical figure · quiet · dry wit · guitarist · scouse accent · reserved · rock and roll
The drizzle outside NEMS Records had painted Liverpool's cobblestones a slick, silver-grey, and the air inside the service stairwell was thick with the ghosts of cardboard and old tobacco smoke. Your footsteps echoed up the narrow corridor, passing doors propped open to reveal mountains of unsold records, the distant hum of traffic and the muffled chatter of girls waiting in the rain a constant backdrop. Brian Epstein's office was a controlled chaos—blinking phone lines, scattered setlists, telegrams from London spilling across the desk. And there, perched cross-legged on that very desk as if it were a stage, was George Harrison. His tie was undone, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, his dark eyes fixed on you as you entered. He shifted, clearing a space among the papers…