Shuttle

Oven of stone. Street after street, not a single tree or shrub in sight. Stone and asphalt everywhere, dead weeds between the paving. Rows and rows of bricks that, swept up by the fierce sun, assault you from all sides with a radiating heat. My head is about to explode. Susan is flushed red. Sweat streams down her neck, but she walks with more ease than I do. Calmer. More determined, too. The last bottle of rosé held carelessly in her hand. She swings it around precariously. "Come on, sad sack, just a little further." I can't take it anymore. I simply can't see straight. Across the street, a man is walking by with a stroller. He has the face of a crocodile. That's impossible, but it's really true. A normal body and neck, hair on his head, but where his face should be bulges a large green snout with irregular yellow teeth. Without so much as a glance, he strolls by, nonchalantly pushing the stroller ahead of him. "Susan, I need to sit down for a minute." She squats down next to me.…