Return to the MansionThe bar was full of the usual eclectic press of depressives, alcoholics and nicotine addicts. Bremen liked to think of himself as belonging to none of these groups, but he knew he was deceiving himself as he downed his second whisky and ordered another. It tasted like burnt almonds, which was what numerous rumours attested to it being made from. Others believed potatoes, produced in illicit stills way out in the mountains where the patrols couldn't reach, formed the base. Whatever the truth, it tasted awful, but it made his head buzz and that was all that mattered.
He saw Rodney sitting down the far side of the bar, sifting through the pages of an online journal. The pages floated around his head and Bremen caught some moving pictures of machines being taken apart, st
