Aziraphale was obviously perturbed about something, Crowley could tell. He kept fidgeting with his glass, glancing at the sky, shuffling his feet. Finally the angel spoke. �Nice work, your side�s done.�

�Hm?� Crowley murmured.

�The war,� said Aziraphale. �The United Sta�sorry, the coalition forces�against Ira�Saddam Hussein.�

�Oh, that.� Crowley blinked. �I thought that was your side. Liberation of oppressed peoples, spreading of democracy, removal of nasty dictator, etc.�

�My side doesn�t go in for the killing of innocents,� said Aziraphale coldly. He looked surprised.

Crowley grinned. �Yeah, right. Like all those��

�Not anymore, not it if can be avoided,� Aziraphale amended hastily. �And do you know how many precious works of art were lost in the looting of museums?�

Crowley nodded. He had been rather upset about that himself. Humans died eventually anyway, but there was no need to lose irreplaceable cultural artifacts.

�People dying is worse, of course,� said Aziraphale, sharply. He was becoming far too skilled at reading the look in Crowley�s shades-shielded eyes. There was a pause. �Your side is definitely responsible for Fox News, though�right?�

�Oh, that, yeah.�

�Funny.� Aziraphale stared into his glass. �You�d have thought they�d send out a memo or something. You�re sure it wasn�t your side?�

�Not really,� said Crowley. �I just assumed it was yours.� He cast about for a different topic. The war made him nervous; all the talk of regime change reminded him of Lucifer. Which reminded him of the Saunter. �I think we need more drinks.�

�Good idea.�

Six bottles later, they became quite confident in their political philosophies.

�Jusss� tempt the bugger,� Crowley insisted. �America�sss good at that. Import pop culture and wosssname, Botoxss. Corrupt �im in a week. He�ll sssit around watching reality sshowss while American oil companiesss take control.�

Aziraphale disagreed incoherently. �Got to . . .� He paused. �Make it good. Show �im goodness, like. Never had a daddy growin� up . . . his mum didn�t want him. Poor kid. Poor kiddie. He jus� wants to be loved . . . reform �im, that�s the key.� He hiccupped.

�Reform my arssse,� said Crowley. He thought about that for a moment. �If�t wassn�t my side, an� it wassn� yoursss . . .�

Aziraphale blinked owlishly at him. �Yeah?�

�Humansss,� said Crowley. �Funny buggerss. Want to take a holiday in Sssyria?�

Somewhere very far away, a red-haired woman laughed. It was a happy laugh, or at least gleeful, but for some reason it made the people around her feel suddenly very cold despite the hot sun.

SCENE