The air was stifling. Sitting in the back, I could not feel the effects of the air conditioning and I sweated profusely on the sticky plastic seat. My father tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he stared through the mirage to the stationary car in front of us.
“I’m bored,” Kiri complained. “And hot.”
“Look out the window,” suggested my father cheerfully, through gritted teeth. “You’re in Brazil. It’s beautiful, remember?”
Kiri glanced out the window at the banana plants at the side of the duelta. “I’m still hot,” she whined. “How do you live here?”
“It’s not this hot all year,” my father replied, forcing a laugh.
“I bet it is,” Kiri said.
They lapsed into silence.
The car in front of us inched forward a few metres and my father hurried to follow it. After a few minutes of silence, my father turned around and looked apologetically at us.