A Morning at 102.0

Not a long panic scream. A short cry, the kind people make when they touch metal that has been left in direct sun too long. Then came the sharp pop of a tire blowing out. Lin rushed to the window and saw a delivery truck stopped in the glare, its back door hanging open. Cases of bottled water had spilled into the street. A driver was kneeling beside the truck, both hands on his knees. When he looked up, his face was bloodless, but sweat ran from his chin in a thin line and vanished before it could even mark the asphalt. Sofia saw it too. She didn’t speak. She just set her cup down as though the argument about the morning had suddenly become unimportant.