Maycomb was an old town, but it was a tired old town when I first knew
it. In rainy weather the streets turned to red slop; grass grew on sidewalks, the courthouse sagged in the square.
Somehow, it was hotter then: a black dog suffered on a summer's day; bony mules hitched to Hoover carts flicked flies in the
sweltering shade of the live oaks on the square. Men's stiff collars wilted by nine in the morning. Ladies bathed
before noon, after their three-o'clock naps, and by nightfall were like soft teacakes with frostings of sweat and sweet talcum.