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"Yeah?"
"You don't think we made a mistake, do you?"
Harry shook his head. "We didn't make a mistake."
"We could have been wrong about Dreisler."
"Anything's possible, but I wouldn't want to bet my life on it."
"How do you feel about being away from America?"
"I feel okay. America's going to be a hard place for a long time."
"You think we'll ever go back?"
"I don't know. The America we want to go back to is the America of 1997. That's all gone."
Harry got out of bed and padded to the refrigerator for a Swan lager. He was cultivating a taste for Australian beer.
"You can never go back to the nineties."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mick Farren is a hopelessly unreconstructed side effect of the late sixties and seventies who still entertains the absurd idea that a writer should be some swashbuckling, Byronic figure who has quite as much fun as any of his characters. Accordingly, he continues to play rock&roll in the saloons of New York, drinks too much, wears a lot of black, and still harbors a desire to be rich and famous before his excesses catch up with him.