The sense of "brotherhood" Moretti refers to is what keeps The Strokes close even when they are back home in New York City, where their one significant break from touring in the past year was in September 2001, when, Fraiture says, "the city changed totally." "If we're off tour in New York we maybe don't see each other for a day or two," Casablancas says, "but than usually we'll hang out with one or another, we'll see a movie, end up rehearsing and see each other every day." Casablancas is calmer as The Strokes prepare to board the bus for an 11-hour drive to the next date in Kansas City. He didn't really want a fight. That was the drink. And as with any night on the piss, Casablancas ends up woozily philosophical." "I think it's going pretty well," he concludes. "The way they cheered tonight, I think they're just happy to hear something that's different." Fabrizio Moretti is smiling again. "This is all I ever wanted. I could die happy. It could always be better, but I don't want to wish for anything because I don't want to jinx myself." You're not fearing a backlash after the hype? "I hope we make an album so good everyone has to love it. No offence to you, my friend," he says with a comforting pat on the knee, "but if people see the British press as this empire that builds and crushes bands, they're wrong. They could tell us we're the worst band in the world in a couple of months and it won't faze me. We're having a good time."
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