“On the radio, turned low, Reba sang of hard times with the full authority of a cross-eyed redheaded millionaire.”

“He flipped the dail, and I crossed my arms over my chest as some vaguely European-sounding band sang about how video had killed the radio star. I wished someone would kill this radio.”

“it's true what they sang in that song, that video killed the radio star-how in the long war between the senses, the eye, in its unstoppable scorched-earth campaign, has mobilized a kind of technologi­cal Gresham's Law against radio, and has almost entirely sidelined it;”

“Jonah McAllister regarded me with cold eyes. "Oh, yes. That's her. The lovely Ms.Gin Blanco. The bitch who was giving my boy a hard time.A hard time? I supposed so, if you thought turning him in to the cops for attempted robbery, breaking a plate full of food in his face, and ultimately stabbing Jake McAllister to death was a hard time.”

“...the redhead could sling mud at him and he’d get hard.”

“You know what would help?" I asked, not meeting his eyes."Hmm?""If you turned off this crap music and put on something that came out after the Berlin Wall went down."Dimitri laughted. "Your worst class is history, yet somehow, you know everything about Eastern Europe.""Hey, gotta have material for my jokes, Comrade." Still smiling, he turned the radio dail. To a country station."Hey! This isn't what I had in mind," I exclaimed. I could tell he was on the verge of laughing again."Pick. It's one or the other."I sighed. "Go back to the 1980s stuff."He flipped the dail, and I crossed my arms over my chest as some vaguely European-sounding band sang about how video had killed the radio star. I wished someone would kill this radio.”