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Description de l’éditeur
Ackerman Hart stepped off the rusting bus and began climbing the dusty hill with an unlit cigarette dangling from his chapped mouth and a sweat stained handkerchief clenched in his hand. His eyes darted from rock to rock with such intensity that not even a pair of screeching parrots could grab his attention. Even the drifting exhaust from the old rusting bus that followed him up the hill, like any other day, didn't bother him. He kept climbing with his eyes fixed on the path ahead of him. At the top of the hill, had he lifted his head, Ackerman would have seen the dozens of plywood shacks that lined the dusty road and the water from the afternoon shower dripping off the shimmering tin roofs. Afternoon rains never seemed to make much difference in the dust lifting off the road, and today was no different.