Mid-afternoon downtown traffic is bad. The car inches forward.
He ordered the parts and helped to install it. He was so proud of what he'd done, he poured a bottle of water onto the pavement, just to watch gravity take it smoothly over the fresh grates.
"It's awfully cold here," Andrew's mother says. "Is it always so frigid?"
Four years ago, she moved down south to a place called: Casa Grande, which Andrew has never seen, but imagines has a lot of horses and folks with guns.
"My poor bones are aching already" she says, fiddling with the heater.
She'd wanted him to be a lawyer or a dentist. Something where he'd have to wear a clean coat.
"Mom, forget the heat. There's something important..."
Someone behind them leans on the horn telling Andrew to move. Another car joins in, and soon there is a chorus of honking all around them.
It's not until they've driven past his sewer, that Andrew's Mom finally lifts her head. "You need to get that heater fixed," she says.
Andrew says nothing.