“How can he stand this heat? It’s 107,” says Raul.
The strawberry-faced man hits the rolled-up window with his fist.“Water!”. He pulls the handle on Raul’s locked car door.
“Drive,” I say.
“Let’s wait for a green light,” says Raul.
Now the sunburnt man lifts a large drumstick. No, a prosthetic leg. Bending, he hammers our front window glass with that denim-clothed limb. “Water!” Any second, the window will break.