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A sweltering wave of heat affronts us the minute I step from the truck.
Melted tar and grit stick to the soles of my shoes.
I wipe them on the grass, hunting for a shadow to stand in.
This time of day, there are hardly any.
We wait by the curb.
He’s pacing slightly, trying to talk himself into it.
I talk about the weather for a minute, giving him a much needed distraction.
“It's like an oven,” I smile. “And winter is barely over.”
“Winter? What’s that?” he scoffs. “This is nothing. One time it hit forty six celsius.”
“Forty six?”
“The river dried up until it was more like a bunch of waterholes.”
“Jesus.”
“Me and my friend Asher fried an egg by holding a pan out the window.”
“Now I understand why the locals risk their nuts swimming in that murky water.”
“Gotta stay cool however you can,” he replies.
Must be why everyone has their curtains closed in the middle of the day.
Marco checks his hair in the reflection of the truck window.
A hairy huntsman spider the size of my hand scuttles across the windscreen.
Now it’s my turn to tense up.
I’ve never been a fan of spiders.
Especially that big.
He shoos it onto the grass with an old newspaper from the gutter.
“Must have hitched a ride from the river,” he guesses.
He holds back a smile as I side step his hairy friend.
“It won’t hurt you, baby. It’s harmless.”
I reach out to hug him, but he moves away.
He’s nevereverdone that before.
“Not here,” he warns. “Not in front of dad. Doesn’t take much to set him off.”
As we cross the street, I try not to be offended.
