In Dro's reality and consciousness, the day the Voyeur was viewing was simply another summer day. Another appearance of the Sun through his shabby, run down window. In an inverted world, where structure could be subsided by random taints, I would have the courage to compare this window to the typical stained window of the Catholic church. Sans, you know, the grandeur. And the structure.
But like I said...
He had his fan on through out the entire night. They say that the human mind has the compacity and will to ignore certain stimuli when it deems itself ready to shut off. Alejandro found his lullaby in the swiveling cooling device, with its four constant clicks that brought that fan from a distant right to a more cooling left, yet he was still moist from another ninety seven degree sleeping expedition.
Woe to the equator.
The Sun told him it was only going to get worse. It glared at him, piercing his closed eye lids and making him feel alive. Again. It was now appropriate to depart from his damp, humid mattress and do what he felt necessary.
They also say that if exposed to the same conditions when your human mind finds the will and compacity to shut off, your human mind minds its independance to shut off and becomes dependant on repeated circumstance.
He felt it necessary to close his windows, turn the fan on a higher setting, and sleep for four more hours. If you were to ask Alejandro Manuel Garcia what he dreamt about in those tranquil, appeasing four hours he would tell you that he did not remember.
But the Voyeur was and is able to leap frog your and his beautiful human mindblocks:
Alejandro sat outside his home carrying a roll of toilet paper in his right hand and a tank of gasoline in the other. In his three room, one story home were an incomprable amount of people swaying and moving, causing his living arrangement, being only suited for himself and his mother, to sway and creak to the same rhythm, to the same heathen rhythm. Alejandro called to his mother, having no explanation as to why these people were in his home, wanting reassurance that it was not at her expense. He screamed, he cried, his vocal cords strummed and vibrated, but he could not sermount the caphonious melody that these people melded their souls to. Anger tapped Alejandro on the shoulder and offered him a free evaluation period of this emotional state. Alejandro did not know it then, but the man playing the role of Anger was, in declaration, his father.
Alejandro Manuel Garcia had only seen his father three times in his lifetime. The first when he was 2 months.
the second of 4 months.
And the last at the spectacular age of 12 months.
Daddy gone done him wrong.

Yet.

There, in his dream, was a perfect representation of his father, packaged with the perfect manifestation.
The Voyeur nodded at the appropriateness.

Alejandro nodded to Father ANger, knowing in almost innate technique what he felt necessicary.

He walked around his home, or what was once his home, pouring a steady stream of gasoline, having an idyllic look in his eye, blending the austere with the magnificent. He circled his enemy
and they were absolutely abstruse to the fact.
He glanced over to Father Anger. They exchanged looks of supremacy and dominance.

Here were intruders intuding without the slimmest ideas that Alejandro Manuel Garcia, with collaboration with Father Anger, were about to burn the entire scenario to the ground. Alejandro stood before the swaying and creaking, opening his arms for a rhetorical hug, releasing a booming laugh of pain, sorrow, and compensation for the two. Father Anger grabbed his son's shoulder. He asked a question that would ruin the boy's entire agenda for compensation.
"Do you have a lighter?"