A wobbly wooden hacienda porch with numerous traces of peeled paint. A freckled shade from the old vine leaves. The sun, frying like a sizzling hot pan. A shabby radio playing heated melodies. An idle lazy fan, well forgotten by time, supposedly cooling down yet loading the air with flaming love impulses. The flowers blushing red under those flying fiery hormones. The rustic wooden windows were left all bare. The old floral rich curtains were turned into provoking clothes that now wrap her slender body in a tight hug.