The summer ran dry and hot.  The tall grasses that had grown up around the vine by the roadside turned pale and crisp until they made whispering sounds in the afternoon breeze and filled the night with the sweet, sleepy smells of summer growing old.  The vine began to wither from lack of moisture and a crack appeared in the skin of the one watermelon that had survived, so that a little bit of pink insides showed.  A motor scooter drove along the shoulder of the road and narrowly missed the melon.