He walked away with the nod of his head, repeating the pattern three times, a nod, then a nod, then another nod, and returned to his position by the Jeep Wagoneer. Pulling hard on the medical as he hunkered down. And she stood, still not looking in his direction. He felt such a sadness for her and a sense of disappointment in the behaviour of the Mexican woman. Money can’t buy you love. Money can buy you a big black hearse to be driven around in. What’s the difference, alive or dead? Dead or alive.

The driver’s side opened to release the sound of Mexican music carrying a relentless joviality as the carer came round to help the patient patient into the car.

She sat first, then her legs were helped and swung to line up with her body. A clear two actions. Doors slammed, the engine started. Not an exciting sound, just a massive sound of solid power. Spreading across the concrete like a sheet. American: like the continent.

The car reversed, the window on the passenger side lowered and the black glasses spoke.

‘Can I return the favour?’

Ever had a look of blankness on his face at the question. Had he heard? Yes, he was just not expecting any further acknowledgement of his presence.

‘Is this your final destination?’

The humour was evident in her tone.

‘No, just a stop on the way.’

‘To?’

Again the blank look, which he now understood to be a wave of stoned face.

‘Would you like a ride?’

‘Thank you.’

Came the unthought-out reply. There seemed no other. He got up from down, and moved towards the black mass. He dropped the smoke and stood, giving her an opportunity for closer appraisal, a chance to change her mind. He wasn’t pushing, he didn’t want to. She must have approved of the viewing, which he extended, now, without facing her, his foot taking its time to flatten the roach into the concrete.

‘Please. Hop in.’

What were her eyes like? And where would he say he was going?

In that order came the thoughts. Occupying his brain to deny a valid and assessed response to her invitation. Those thoughts and the overwhelming desire to hold her in his arms.

With love, and maybe the slightest little bit of lust.

And maybe the result of the marijuana.

*

The sprinklers on the grass and the magnolia leaves had left a glisten.

That the sun toyed with in its own time. The black mass car pulled into the drive of the large 1950s ranch house on North Oakhurst Drive. One of the few that had not been demolished and turned into a mansion bulging out of the restriction of the perimeter that limited its expanse, like fat surrounded by a belt.