he air was dry， tasted like a burnt 1)tortilla. The sun blazed white across a 2)bleached out sky. There would be no relief from the heat， not for weeks to come.

It was summer. In Phoenix， summer meant average temperatures of 110 degrees， with no rain. The

population went into 3)hibernation， hiding from the intense heat inside air-conditioned concrete caves.

I was no different， 4)scuttling to my car armed with oven mitts and bottled water.

The oven mitts would keep my hands safe from the hot steering wheel until the air conditioning cooled the interior of my car. The water bottle ensured 5)hydration. Everyone carried a water bottle. It is the first line of defense against heat exhaustion， heat stroke， 6)dehydration.

In the summer， water is our god， 7)Freon our 8)lord and master.

Driving along Thunderbird Road， I gazed at the urban scenery. The sidewalks were empty， and the glare from their concrete surfaces made my eyes 9)sting. I stopped for a red light. There was an empty lot on the corner， fenced in by chain link. A sign was attached， directing interested buyers to contact a local 10)realtor. I wondered what sort of business would 11)sprout up on this 12)weedy， rocky lot， nearly 13)barren except for a sad 14)ironwood tree， its branches 15)scraggly and weakened from the lack of rain.

It offered little shade to the old man curled up beneath it.

A car horn pierced the air， and I realized the light had changed. I made my way along the 16)asphalt 17)strip until I reached my destination.

The doctor’s office was cool， the lights in the waiting room 18)dim. The walls were painted a reassuring green， pale and comforting. The chairs were padded with sandy colored fabric， coordinating well with the earth-toned carpet. The waiting room was an oasis from the harsh summer light outside.

“You’re doing very well，” the doctor said， her Indian accent barely 19)discernable. “Remember， you are very 20)susceptible now to 21)bronchitis. Just because it is summer does not mean you can’t get sick. I see you have your water bottle with you. Good.” She smiled. “Don’t leave home without it! See you in two months.”

I stepped outside and felt the sting in my chest of dried air entering my tired lungs. I took a deep 22)gulp of water， tried not to breathe in too deeply as I made my way to my car. I put on my oven mitts and began to drive.

I was stopped again at the intersection with the empty lot， only this time it was opposite and to my left. I looked over to the corner and saw the old man standing there. He was holding up a cardboard sign. “Homeless 23)vet，” it read. He held out his other hand toward the stopped cars. His shoulders were 24)hunched as he bent， trying to make eye contact. I knew everyone was looking straight ahead， or in the other direction.

“They’re like stray kittens，” my neighbor had said once. “If you give them money， they’ll stay on that corner， and then you have to give them money every time.”

The homeless vet stepped back from the cars. I saw him raise his fist to his mouth and his body began to shake. He was having a 25)coughing fit; I recognized the body language from my own 26)bout with bronchitis.

He went around the corner pole and pulled at the fencing. He slid through a hole in the chain link and crawled to the 27)meager shade beneath the tree.

The light changed， and I drove on. There was a 28)Circle K and I pulled in. I bought two bottles of water and two apples. I made a left and made my way back toward the street corner with the empty lot.

He was there， with his sign， with his hand out. Quickly， I slid over to the passenger side and rolled down the window. I held out the bag with the water and fruit. I yelled out. “Hey，” I said， and waved the bag a bit.

The homeless vet 29)staggered over， and took the bag. He looked into my car. When he smiled， I saw he had very few teeth left. His eyes were watery， his skin leathery， his fingers scratched and 30)arthritic. “Bless you，” he said.

The light changed and I drove on， through the 31)shimmering heat and past the cooled concrete caves until I made it to my own 32)sanctuary. The 33)drapes were drawn， keeping out the damaging UV rays from the sun. The air in my home was conditioned， the artificial breeze flowing from the 34)vents， letting me breathe deeply.

It would be two months before I passed that corner again. In two months， the temperatures would be at their highest. The empty lot would be an island of heat， the skinny tree 35)wilted. The fence would be too hot to touch. The homeless vet would need to move on before then. He would probably go downtown. There were shelters. He could find some 36)refuge there. At summer’s end， the 37)monsoons would come. The winds could knock a man down， the rains flood the streets up past the sidewalk.

The next day， in the early morning， I got a plastic bag and filled it with two water bottles， a peanut butter sandwich， an orange， and a small bottle of skin lotion. I got my own water bottle and oven mitts and drove down Thunderbird Road. I reached the corner with the empty lot.

The homeless vet wasn’t there. A man in a short-sleeved shirt and 38)khaki pants was showing another man in jeans and a T-shirt the hole in the fence. The man in jeans was nodding. His T-shirt had a slogan on the back. “Keep It Safe Fencing，” it read.

The light changed. I drove on. I drove home， having nowhere else to go.

空氣很干燥，有一股燒焦的墨西哥玉米餅的味道。炙白的驕陽在褪色的天空中肆意燃燒，即使再過上幾個星期，這熱度也不會有所緩解。

正值炎炎夏日。在鳳凰城，夏日就意味著平均氣溫達到華氏110度(43.3攝氏度)，而且滴雨不下。人們都會進入休眠期，窩在開著空調的混凝土小窩里躲避

炙熱。

我也不例外，戴著烤箱手套，拎著瓶裝水，快步?jīng)_向我的小車。

在空調冷卻車內的空氣之前，烤箱手套能保護我的手不被滾燙的方向盤燙傷，水瓶則能確保我獲取充足水分。每個人都帶著一個水瓶，這是預防熱衰竭、中暑和脫水的

首要法則。

在夏日，水就是我們的上帝，而氟利昂就是我們的主人。

沿著雷鳥路一路前行，我凝視著城市街景。人行道上空無一人，混凝土路面反射的強光刺痛了我的眼睛。我停了下來等紅燈。街角處有一小塊空地，被勾連的鎖鏈圍了起來，還附了一塊廣告牌，指點感興趣的買家與當?shù)匾晃环康禺a經(jīng)紀人聯(lián)系。我不禁想，在這樣一塊雜草叢生、亂石密布，除了一棵枝條凌亂、因缺乏雨水滋潤而蔫巴巴的硬木樹外幾近荒蕪的地方，什么樣的生意能生根發(fā)芽。

那棵樹幾乎不能為樹下蜷伏的老人提供多少蔭蔽。

空氣中響起了一聲刺耳的喇叭聲，我才意識到交通燈已經(jīng)變了。我沿著窄窄的瀝青路繼續(xù)前行，直至到達我的目的地。

醫(yī)生的辦公室里很涼爽，候診室里燈光朦朧。墻壁被漆成了令人安心的綠色，淡淡的，舒適宜人。椅子上墊著淡茶色的織物，與土色系的地毯很相襯。與屋外刺眼的夏日陽光相比，這個候診室真是一片綠洲。

“你的身體狀況非常不錯，”醫(yī)生說，幾乎聽不出她帶有印度口音?！坝涀?，你現(xiàn)在很容易感染支氣管炎。雖然現(xiàn)在是夏天，但并不意味著你不會生病。我看到你隨身帶了水瓶。非常好。”她微笑著?！懊看纬鲩T都要帶著它!兩個月以后再見吧?！?/p>

我走到門外，感覺到干燥的空氣進入了我疲憊的肺部，刺痛了胸膛。我喝了一大口水，然后向我車子走去，一路上盡量不去深呼吸。我?guī)峡鞠涫痔祝l(fā)動了汽車。

我在那塊空地旁的十字路口再次停了下來，只不過，這一次停在了街對面，空地在我左邊。我向街角望去，看見那個老人正站在那里。他手里拿著塊硬紙板，上面寫著“無家可歸的退伍老兵”。他對那些停著的汽車伸出了另一只手。他聳著肩膀，彎下腰試圖用眼神與人交流。我知道每個人都直視著前方，或是看著別的方向。

“他們就像流浪貓，”我的鄰居曾經(jīng)這樣說。“如果你給他們錢，他們就會繼續(xù)在街角停留，然后你每次都不得不給他們錢。”

這個無家可歸的退伍老兵離開車流往回走。我看見他抬起拳頭靠近嘴邊，全身開始顫抖。他的咳嗽發(fā)作了——我從自己與支氣管炎較量的經(jīng)驗中認出了他的身體語言。他在街角的柱子處走來走去，用力拉著柵欄。他從鎖鏈間的一個小洞滑了進去，向樹下稀疏的樹蔭爬去。

交通燈轉了，我向前開去。路邊有一間OK便利店，我開過去停下車，買了兩瓶水和兩個蘋果。我向左轉，又開回那片空地邊的街角。

他還在那里，拿著他的牌子，伸著他的手。我很快把車駛進行人道上，搖下車窗。我把裝著水和水果的袋子伸了出去，大聲叫道:“嗨!”我邊說邊晃著袋子。

那個無家可歸的退伍老兵步履蹣跚地走過來，接過袋子。他朝我的車里看了看。當他微笑時，我見到他的牙齒已經(jīng)幾乎掉光了。他雙眼泛著淚光，皮膚像皮革一樣粗糙，手指上滿布刮痕，還有關節(jié)炎。“愿上帝保佑你，”他說。

交通燈轉了，我繼續(xù)向前開去，穿過耀眼的高溫，經(jīng)過涼爽的混凝土小窩，直到回到我自己的庇護所。窗簾都被放了下來，以抵御陽光中傷人的紫外線。我的房間里開了空調，人工產生的微風從排風口飄拂而出，讓我深深地吸了幾口氣。

還要過兩個月我才會再次經(jīng)過那個街角。在這兩個月，氣溫會達到最高點。那塊空地會變成酷熱的小島，那棵瘦骨伶仃的樹也會枯萎，那里的圍墻，滾燙得無法觸摸。那個無家可歸的退伍老兵需要在那之前換個地方。他也許會去市區(qū)，那里有庇護所，他會在那里得到幫助。夏季結束時，季風就要來臨?？耧L大得可以把人吹倒，雨水會越過人行道漫過大街。

第二天一大早，我?guī)弦粋€塑料袋，裝了兩瓶水、一份花生醬三明治、一個橘子和一小瓶潤膚露。我拿起自己的水瓶和烤箱手套，沿著雷鳥路一路下行，到了那塊空地邊的街角。

那個無家可歸的退伍老兵已經(jīng)不在那里了。一個穿著短袖襯衫和卡其布褲子的人正把那片柵欄上的洞指給另一個穿著牛仔褲和T恤衫的人看。那個穿牛仔褲的人點著頭，他的T恤衫背后印著一句口號，寫著 “安全使用圍欄” 。

交通燈轉了。我啟動小車，朝著家的方向開去，也沒有別的地方能去了。