"What are you reading, Aziraphale?" Crowley asked, as Aziraphale jumped and tried to stuff the book down the side of the armchair. "Is it very filthy?"
"No! Don't be silly, Crowley. It's, er, a modern version of classic literature."
"Huh," Crowley said. "You owe me one for getting all those Penguin Classics reprinted. So, you're having a girl's night in with the Brontë sisters, are you?"
"Not quite," Aziraphale said. "I thought I'd order a new edition of some Chinese literature, but, um, it's not quite what I expected. I mean, the last time I read Journey to the West, I'm sure it wasn't illustrated quite so heavily."
"Oh, hey, I remember that," Crowley said. "The special effects were crap. And one of the guys was played by a girl. Did you get the "Making Of" book by mistake?"
Aziraphale sighed and handed the book over. Crowley flicked through, looking bewildered.
"It's a comic. Why is the monk shooting people? Where's the pig? Why do they have guns and cars in ancient China, for that matter?"
"It's quite interesting, once you get started," Aziraphale said. "Anything that gets young people reading classic literature can't be too bad--"
"Are the pig and the water spirit in love?" Crowley said, peering over the top of his sunglasses at some of the pictures. He grinned at Aziraphale. "What sort of comic is this, Aziraphale?"
"Um," Aziraphale said, a trifle desperately. "How about a nice cup of tea?