It reads 37.4 in the shade and the asphalt has 41

"Nicasio, what does it say?" "Thirty-seven point four." "Down on the asphalt, the paver's probe gives me forty-one." "Rebeca, your probe is worth nothing. The law says official thermometer. That is what I am for, the town's official temperature reader: I read at two and I sign." "The official thermometer is under the town hall arcade." "It is where the regulation says: two metres off the ground, in the shade and ventilated." "So my crew lays asphalt because the device measuring us is nice and cool." "You can lay asphalt up to thirty-eight." "I have been a foreman for eleven years and this town has not stopped a single job for heat since the law came in. Not one day." "No." "And that tells you nothing?" "It tells me that in 2039, when the law came in, the thermometer was in the middle of the square, in the sun. That August fourteen working days were stopped." "And then?" "They moved it to the arcade. All by the book. I did the move myself, with a drill and two plugs." "Nicasio." "Write whatever you like in your report, Oñate. I sign what it says, and what it says is what has to be signed. The rest would be having judgement, and they do not pay me for that."