At 6:35 in the evening the train stopped in Culiacán. Ditto and Virginia looked out the open door of the freight car. Their car was at the back of the train and didn’t reach the platform. They could see the shadow of their car stretch across the dry sand to a set of tracks that diverged from their tracks and led to the freight yard. A short-haired, black dog was sniffing at the ties of the diverging tracks and scratching at the sand with his thin legs. A cool breeze descended with the declining day. The breeze dried the perspiration on Virginia’s neck and temples, and it tickled Ditto’s ears and snout. They continued to watch the dog digging between the ties, until they felt a jerk and heard a click when a new car was coupled to the train. A gust of warm air hit them in the door of their car before the train began to move, and the dog looked up. The station master came down from the platform and yelled something to the dog, and lifted his arm as if to throw something, and the dog ran toward the freight yard. A few minutes later the train rolled out of town. Ditto and Virginia watched the shadow of their car stretch and contract as it painted the mounds and small hills along the side of the tracks. The breeze created by the movement of the train swirled and filled the car, and cooled Ditto and Virginia standing in the open door.