The boiling yellow disc glowed brighter than ever before as it sank behind the horizon of towers and buildings. Dave peered out from beneath the palm of his hand as the gleaming yellow diamond of refracted light was swallowed up in a surprisingly short time and suddenly the whole town seemed to have been plunged into shadow. Blinking in the sudden gloom, he drew his colourful PVC trenchcoat around him tighter as what heat there was in the air bled away with the light.

"Jeez, it gets cold quick," he muttered, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

His companion ignored him.

"You sure you're not going to freeze like that?" asked Dave reasonably.

It was a sensible question. The man before him wore a loose neon-pink T-shirt that was pressed against his torso by the cold breeze, and his baggy tan slacks were a thin weave material. Clothes for a much warmer climate, just as his mirrored pince nez sunglasses were now ridiculously inappropriate for this late dusk.

"Well, I might just do that," Nigel said at last, his perfect white teeth gritted in irritation. "Had I known we were coming to Brooklyn, I probably would have dressed more suitably. Full body armor and a placard saying 'TEXAS - WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM?!', that sort of thing." His deep voice was tight with annoyance.

Dave sighed again. "It wasn't like this was deliberate."

"Oh, no, Dave of course it wasn't deliberate. That would suggest what congealed bit of chinese takeaway in your skull you call a brain could actually achieve something you set out to do, wouldn't it?"

"How many times do I have to apologize?"

"That should be your bloody family motto, Dave," Nigel sneered. "I know you failed your higher school certificate and thus logically should find 'stop' signs heavy literature, but even I never thought you were completely illiterate."

"I just ticked the wrong box on the online ticket site," Dave said for the upteenth time.

"So what? We had those tickets for forty-three hours and you never spotted that they said 'Brooklyn' rather 'Brisbane'."

"Yes, as they look EXACTLY NOTHING ALIKE!" Nigel shouted. "And, again, I was stupid enough to think you'd be able to spot the difference."

"Ah, so who's the stupid one now, huh?" Dave asked triumphantly.

Nigel reached up to brush one of his acid-yellow bangs out of his chocolate brown face, opened his mouth to give a retort, then stopped. With a huff he turned to the third figure slumped on the bench beside him and jabbed an elbow into their ribs.

Andrew's man of shaggy ginger flew wildly as his head shot up through forty-five degrees as he snapped out of his snooze. His wide green eyes with their dilated pupils gazed unseeingly as he mumbled, "So don't delay, act now - supplies are running out! Allow, if you're still alive, six to eight years arrive, and if you follow there may be a tomorrow but if the offers gone, you might as well be walking on the sun..." He shuddered and blinked. "We're off the plane?"

"Yes, you hirsuite lunatic, we're off the plane," said Nigel impatiently. "And, no, this isn't Queensland. Professor Brian Cox here," he added, nodding at Dave, "has dumped us in the unfashionable ends of New York, to whit, Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn?" Andrew said distate. "Sounds Dutch. Why couldn't we go to Amsterdam?"

"Because Dave can recognize As and Bs but no other letter, apparently."

Andrew nodded, rubbing his bare yet hairy arms emerging from his grubby wifebeater singlet. "Christ, it's cold. And I'm hungry. What are we doing in a park?"

"Oh, this was as far as that taxicab driver would take us before we ran out of money," Dave explained. "Apparently conversion rates mean Australian cash is like Monopoly money here."

"Did you try actual Monopoly money?" asked Andrew, fumbling in the pocket of his ragged denim shorts to pull out a wad of dull-coloured notes. "You think this is worth much?"

"Oh, give me that, Orc-features," Nigel said, snatching the cash and beginning to count it out. "What crime did I commit to be lumbered with you two stem-cell-research rejects?" he muttered before adding, "And that was rhetorical, so both of you shut up."

"Next flight back to Sydney's at six tomorrow morning," Dave explained.

"And that's, what, twelve hours away?"

"Closer to thirteen."

"And the chances are we'll have died of exposure on this park bench by then," scowled Nigel, licking his thumb to turn the notes quicker.

"You're joking," said Andrew.

"Well, concievably we could be stabbed and raped to death by crack-crazed New Yorkers first," Nigel conceded with a shrug. "I mean, Dave had to leave us in a place where a quarter of all human beings live below the poverty line and are legally allowed to use lethal weaponry on anyone who looks at them in a funny way."

"I know," Dave agreed. "How the hell is America a superpower?"

"There must be something worth visiting while we're here," Andrew said, rising from the bench, shoving his hands deep into his pocket and turning around to gaze at the shadow-smothered metropolis. Lights were visible behind windows, but not much else. "Museums? Acadmies? No! Coney Island! Let's go there!"

"On foot?" Nigel suggested, waving his fistfull of cash. "Because this wouldn't pay the full cab fare and I just get this horrible feeling the New Luna Park is going to ask for even more money than the old one back home..."

"Fine," Andrew said, nodding. "On foot it is!"

A bleached-blond eyebrow arched behind the mirrored sunglasses. "You're serious?"

"Never more so! We've got thirteen hours in New York..."

"Yeah, the crappy bits of New York. Called Brooklyn."

"...even so, we can't waste it!" With that, Andrew strode off through the park in what he no doubt assumed was the right direction to Coney Island. "The Rolling Stones never gathered any moss, did they?"

"If they did, Keith probably smoked it," Dave said, and followed him.

Nigel sighed. "Oh, why do I not murder you idiots in your sleep?" he wondered, and then followed them. "You realize there are much better things to do than wander through Brooklyn after dark? I mean, the whole place smells like vomit-covered garbage, prices are through the roof, everyone is genetically programmed to be a complete asshole..."

"You've finally come home," Dave yawned, and Andrew laughed.

"You ever hear of the Ninja Turtles doing anything Brooklyn?" Nigel challenged. "No. The same reason Ned Kelly never went to Dubbo. There are some places man should not go and this is one of them." He dope-slapped Dave. "Brooklyn is not Brisbane!"

Dave winced. "Well, instead of easy Queenslander chicks you can have easy Brooklyn babes?" he offered, rubbing the back of his head.

"How shallow do you think I am?" Nigel retorted.

"Very," said Andrew with a withering glance. "Besides, an Aboriginal like you should get some interested looks in America. They might mistake you for an African prince."

"You could probably tell them," Dave agreed. "Americans are stupid."

"Way to perpetuate the national stereotype," Andrew reproached him. "Remember, Americans can be some of the friendliest and most generous of people on the planet."

"And they can also be selfish pig-ignorant redneck bigots with chips on their shoulders," Nigel retorted.

"Again, this is so your spiritual home," Dave sighed wistfully.

"My point, you waste of oxygen, is that there is no guarantee we'll meet any nice Americans and a high probability we'll meet the sort of slack-jawed yokels you normally see dressing pigs in gingham dresses and making moonshine."

"Brooklyn Bridge!" said Andrew suddenly, looking back at them with newfound excitement. "We have got to check that out! Climb to the top, next to the flag and watch the sunset over Manhattan! That's definitely somewhere on my bucket list. Just after 'buy a bucket'."

"Pity you missed the sundown, then, isn't it?" Nigel said sweetly, and shivered. "God how far away is Alaska? I'm freezing."

"Your own fault for being so lean and lacking blubbery insulation," Andrew replied, smacking his slight pot-belly beneath his singlet. "No staying power in the cold."

"Oh, that's fat, is it?" asked Nigel, surprised. "I just assumed that was a tumor, or maybe a build-up from dirt given your pathological refusal to bathe!"

"See? That's hunger making you irritable," Andrew said smugly.

"It has been a while since we had anything to eat," Dave agreed glumly. He looked down the street ahead. "Maybe we can get a hotdog or something?"

"Oh, no," said Nigel, shaking his head. "I'm not touching some hotdog stall. We should go somewhere really fancy, where they pick the maggots off the meat first..."

"You are just one whinging bitch aren't you?" said Andrew exasperated. "Think of it as an experience! Widen your perspective! Remember that time we went to that Hungarian restaurant and tried to bluff our way with the menu?"

"I remember it took a hell of a long time for the food to arrive," Nigel replied. "And that the main course was a medium-rare human ear. Which was, half an hour earlier, attached to the head waiter, back when he wasn't crying and bleeding out."

"I thought it was quite moving," Dave replied.

"Yeah. Stomach churning."

"How many waiters care enough to sacrifice their ears for paying customers, though?"

"We didn't really pay, though," Andrew pointed out.

"Yeah," Nigel agreed. "We sort of did a runner before the police arrived."

"I'm just saying Hungarian hospitality is not to be sniffed at," Dave protested.

"Especially not when they cut your nose off and serve it with grated carrot."

Andrew stopped at corner building with a neon design of a steaming tea cup on a saucer. A sign above the cup said THE WILLIAMSBERG DINER. The windows of the building were blocked by venetian blinds, but there were bits of sticky tape on the other side of the glass where menus and posters had been placed over the years. The only sign still remaining was a neatly-drawn notice saying HOME OF MAX'S HOMEMADE CUPCAKES!

"Well, it's not Hungarian."

"You know, I think I've lost my appetite," said Nigel.

"All the more for us then," said Dave and headed for the door. "Come on, proper New York cousine in a late-night diner! JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter in places like this!"

"No. She didn't."

"Well, she would have. If she could have. So she should have."

With that, Dave shoved the door open and a bell jangled. Andrew followed him into the sulfurous yellow interior and Nigel lingered on the pavement. It was now so cold clouds of grey mist billowed from his mouth with each breath.

"All right, but if anyone in there is missing an ear, don't say I didn't warn you..."