It was 98 degrees F. at 8:00 P.M. as I drove onto Main Street, entering the town for the first time in three years. My car windows were down. Nauseating heat rolled through them in waves along with the sounds, the familiar sounds and sights—horns honking; friends calling to each other from cars; boys whistling, waving, and hooting; sidewalks full of people two hours after all the stores had closed; tires screaming; police cars waiting; theater lines lengthening.