It’s been 10 months since we arrived, three seasons completed, and into the fourth — summer, which is the rainy season. Mexico City is not Mexico, as New York City is not the United States. It is its own world, at the head of but distinct from the body of its country. Many of the clichés widely known about this city have a clear basis in reality; many do not. This is what it feels like from the presence of one aging Gringo who has never been much interested in Latin America in the first place, but finds himself living in the premier example of it.
Everyone who’s been here for many years says the pollution levels are diminishing. Maybe so. I haven’t been here for years and have no means of comparison. I just know what it looks like outside right now. It looks like this most days.
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