Asher, his eyes half-closed, let himself be carried away by the sweltering heat of the day, his grey jeans clinging to his legs like a second skin. He walked at a slow pace not far from Venice beach, the sounds of the city - the cries of seagulls, the distant horns - melting into a deafening murmur. Sweat was beading on his forehead, but he didn't seem to mind, lost in the torpor of that summer's day in Los Angeles.