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Idiots in India

Getting there took an hour on the subway. We got off and began searching for the building. Everywhere, there were tiny, wooden shops, but we didn't see motorcycles in front of any of them. Nor were there any people, period. I could understand that—the temperature was a thousand degrees. It was like walking down a street in a Western movie before the showdown. A filthy, frumpy rug suddenly blew sideways a few stores ahead; as we passed, I saw it was a dog. It suddenly heaved itself up, sending its raw, enormous breasts swinging, then trudged into a hole in a crumbling stone wall.

D.M. Spatchek