Dry street.

I took them through traffic jams.
With the frontseats full and the backseats crammed.
Waiting anxiously for us to arrive the children murmured.
passing the street vendors, the passing people and the hermits.
Their grandmother breathed so heavily it almost weighed the car down.
Around each burdened corner was a myriad of accumulated cars to be found.
As I pulled up to the curb to let them all out, I opened the door from the outside without a frown or shout.
Thus the hot concrete met with their feet.
The fresh warm air knew how to treat them.
I left them safely in the dry street.