One o'clock in the afternoon in mid-May and San Antonio is already almost too hot to bear. The air weighs on you, squirrels its way into your lungs and holds you down like a sadistic older brother, daring you to move.
The cabbie says it hasn't rained for weeks. He's whispering, barely turning the wheel.
Outside, old folks spare their leather skin in the shade beneath trees and mothers blow shallow breaths on their babies' brows.