Upon setting foot en la ciudad, the rain treaded hard on our bodies.
Revealing the damp land of palm weaved baskets and the smell of citrus clung to the roof of the tongue.
Ambitious to try all the fruit and taco carts despite a volatile stomach. Hissing to the stubborn adventure of a boy transfixed by the smell of “tamales, pozole y elote!”.
A broken record, the man on the bicycle repeats his menu through the streets riding over fallen leaves. Everyone on a bicycle, persuading with their sun cracked wrinkled faces.