Rush hour was over but traffic in the city was still bad. The long summer days kept the streets busy. Chuy did not like this drive and did not enjoy going to his sister's. His mood got worse by the mile.

His sister lived on the south side, in a neighborhood of little off-white stucco houses with black iron bars on the windows and doors. It wasn't the worst neighborhood in the city, wasn't even considered one of the bad ones. But it was bad enough to Chuy. He didn't understand why his sister left Los Huertos. Now land in the village was so expensive she couldn't afford to move back.

The streets were empty in his sister's neighborhood. Chuy guessed everyone was still inside eating dinner, or stuck in front of their TV sets. He could hear TVs blaring from some of the houses. It was quiet otherwise, quiet except for the constant hum of the highway. You could see Route 40 from the patch of gravel that was his sister's front yard.

As Chuy turned into his sister's little dead-end street, his nephew Tomas came out the front door of their little house. Tomas was small and fine-boned. He would enter eleventh grade in the fall. They waved to each other and Tomas met Chuy's truck at the curb.

"How's it hangin', Unc?"

Chuy shook his head.

"I hate the damn traffic."

Tomas nodded.

"Yeah. Me too. Thanks for comin' down."

Chuy shrugged.

"Sure."

He climbed out of his truck and followed Tomas to an old Malibu parked in the short driveway. It had been bleached by the desert sun to a flat gray-blue.

"Payne's gray," Chuy said.

"Huh?"

Chuy gestured at the car with his chin.

"I was looking at paint chips today. They called this color Payne's gray."

Tomas looked at his car.

"Huh," he said.

Chuy poked his chin at the car again.

"Tell me again what's wrong."

Tomas described the trouble he was having. A rough idle they thought they'd fixed was back. The car choked going into second gear. He popped the hood and they stared at the engine. It was gray too, a dull greasy gray.

Pain's gray, Chuy thought, and laughed quietly.

"What's funny, Unc?"

Chuy considered explaining this pun to his nephew.

"Nothing," he said. "Where's your tools?"