the band!” Bill shouted. “At least fifty feet!” The man nodded and reined the animal.
        A second magnificent mount carrying a wrinkled Mexican woman in an elaborate red Spanish dress clopped forward. She smiled and shouted something to Bill, but her voice wilted under the band. He nodded and they conferred, then she sat upright and laughed heartily. Bill waved her on and spoke to the other horsemen one at a time, each elderly and adorned in elaborate Spanish attire.
        The band completed its number and again went silent, baring the murmurs of the crowd. Then the leader let out a single long whistle blast, followed by several short ones and again the percussions resumed, thrumming heavily through the crowd. Then another short pause, several short whistle-blasts, and again the full band.
        The Sanchez Family float was thirty feet long and shimmered with thousands of white flowers. On the upward sloping front end, the name Sanchez was spelled in brilliant red flowers. Halfway back, a gazebo with white pillars rose into a Moorish-style arch and roof structure. Flamenco music blared from speakers hidden amid the flowers. Behind the gazebo a tall projection bore a yellow sun made of marigolds with silver streamers glittering in the wind.
        When it reached Bill Jimenez, he shouted to the girls waiting in front of The España restaurant. “Entrants Nine-A, B, C, D, and E, your float is ready!” Maya and the four others stepped forward, giggling and chattering.
        “Alright, ladies,” Bill said. “Time to git on board.”
        He assisted each girl onto the gazebo, careful not to ruffle their elaborate dresses or the float’s fragile flowers. As each stepped into place, he reminded them to use the grab bar because of the many abrupt stops and starts along the route.
        Three girls stood in place clicking their castanets and Bill was helping the fourth, Maya, climb aboard when he was interrupted by an angry voice.
        “Maya!”
        He turned to see a weathered, beaten-down woman approach. She looked to be in her mid-fifties, gray-brown hair, a haggard face, wearing thread-bare tennis shoes, a faded plaid skirt and a blouse with missing buttons. But her most striking feature was her burning eyes.
        “Put her down!” she roared at Bill. “Put my baby down!” As he looked on, she grabbed the girl by both arms and yanked her roughly to the pavement, then hovered over her.
        Maya said, “Oh Mom. It’s alright. I’m just going to ride in the parade. It’ll be over in an hour. I