Why the white line gets painted at four in the morning

Ten past four in the morning, kilometre 31. The paint dries in forty minutes and the first bus goes by at ten past five: that is why four.

Basilio Arrue walks backwards ahead of the machine so the line comes out straight. He is not watching the asphalt: he watches the thermometer on his belt. Twelve degrees.

—Go on —says Chelo Iribas, who is driving, and the line is born behind him, still soft, counting the sixty wheels that will run over it before breakfast.