Sunday morning I walked out around eight. The guesthouse was quiet. Walked north because I had no other plan. The streets were emptier than Saturday. A few people near the cathedral, a woman sweeping the pavement in front of a closed shop. Kept walking up Alcalá. Stopped at a café near the corner of Bravo. Ordered a flat white and stood at the bar while the machine ran. The bar was chest-high and I could see the street. Fifty pesos. Walked past Santo Domingo. The gate at the botanical garden was closed. Sunday. I stood there for a minute and then turned back. By the time I reached the center again it was nearly eleven and hotter. Walked down toward Llano Park. Found a memela stand on the corner — beans, cheese, salsa verde. The woman pressed it flat and cooked it on the comal without looking. Thirty pesos. I ate standing next to the cart. The park had a few families and a man selling elotes from a cart. I sat on a bench in the shade for a while. A kid was kicking a ball against a wall. I watched him miss twice and then connect. The ball came back at the same angle every time. I thought about leaving. Puerto Escondido again, or the coast further east. The float allows it. But I did not book anything. Walked back through the center. Stopped at a nieve cart near Santo Domingo and bought a cup. Mamey. Twenty pesos. Back to the guesthouse by two. The room was cooler than yesterday. I lay down with the window open and the sound of someone's radio coming through from next door. I did not sleep but I closed my eyes. The afternoon was nothing. Around five I walked back out. Found a taco stand near the mercado — chorizo, onion, cilantro. Thirty pesos. I ate standing at the counter while the woman turned meat on the grill. A man next to me ordered four and ate them without stopping. Walked back through the zócalo as the light started to go. The balloon sellers were packing up. The guesthouse man was at the desk when I came back. He nodded.
— Finn