Hector and I walked the older parts of Mexico City’s grid, otherwise refered to as D.F. (pronounced “day efay,” standing for Distrito Federal). He almost knew exactly where to take me as we entered a square with its compulsory church and fountain. We made our way to one of its four corners. This particular corner had more individuals than the others and there was a reason for this conglomeration: street food. Good street food. A single stand selling quesadillas. Meat fried, sending its smells into the air. Ingredients were tossed where needed. The result evoked pleasured murmurs from my stuffed mouth, cheese stringing from me back to my plate. The square was loud, but this corner was silent. I look at Hector with wide approving eyes as we sat on small plastic stools made for children and kept eating.
The Corner: Day 20 (26/11/12)
26 Nov This entry was published on 26/11/2012 at 15:28 and is filed under Uncategorized.