Servi stood out on the street looking around. There was an overflowing trash can on the corner, so he laid the daisies on its summit. When he rounded the corner, he noticed a little boy about Paulo’s age drawing pictures on the sidewalk with a piece of oversized chalk. Without a word, Servi handed the boy the fire truck and walked on. Servi shivered, as if he had just immersed his torso in ice water. But the sirocco was staring to blow and he could almost smell the sands of the Sahara in the rising tide of scalding air, so Servi knew that the shiver was buried inside him.