In an alley crushed by the heat, Lucas walks alone, accustomed to hunger and indifference. That morning, however, a simple scream will turn his life upside down.
The alley was burning in the late morning sun. The ground was so hot that it seemed to vibrate. Lucas, barely nine years old, moved slowly, a bag of scrap metal almost as big as him trailing behind his frail shoulder.
His shirt was torn. His shorts with holes in the knees. His feet, bare and hardened by the street, burned him at every step.
But he knew the pain.
Hunger too.
An unexpected cry in the heat
That morning had been particularly trying. A shopkeeper had chased him away with a sudden gesture. A passer-by had pushed him without even looking at him. For many, Lucas was not a child, only a disturbing element of the scenery.
Then he heard a noise that did not correspond to the place.
A baby was crying.
Families with infants did not live in stifling alleys. They lived behind closed doors, in well-maintained apartments.
The cry resounded again, more urgently.
Lucas dropped his bag.
