Facing Lorrie, on the street, Mexico City. My back to the direction we’re headed. It’s two blocks max. Me with an armful of fresh tacos al pastor. She with a coke in each fist. A lukewarm liquid hits us from above. We glance up. Nothing.
A woman, 40ish, appears from nowhere. Stylishly dressed. Beige slacks, white blouse. Speaks English. “Oh my God a bird pooped on you.” Pulls out a napkin. Starts cleaning me off. A magic trick.
Lorrie says, “it’s okay, we don’t need help. We’re close to our hotel.” She makes a move to walk away. Hesitates.
Suddenly another woman. Behind me. A face I never see. More napkins, dabbing my back. Then a man, slick hair, middle aged, glasses. “Un pajaro grande,” he declares. A large parrot. He has napkins too. Where did they get all these napkins? Now a second man and a fourth napkin. This one tapping down my leg. I follow with my eyes. No bird poop there.
The man with glasses wipes the back of my neck. Pulls my head slightly forward. “Hay mas,” he declares. I thank him. Viva Mexico. He repeats after me, voice dull. Viva Mexico.
Suddenly they’re done. The first woman glides away. Reminds me to wash my hands. Bird poop. There is a car parked on the street. A nondescript, not-quite-new, Japanese four-door. Why didn’t I notice it before? Where did it come from?
She gets in. She is alone. The car disappears. A magic trick.
Onwards, to our hotel. We’re chatty. Saying things like, “strangers would never help us like this at home.” And, “they’d never have that many napkins, that’s for sure.”
We’ve been in Mexico City less than 24 hours. Viva Mexico.
Part One of a multipart distraction from COVID-19. Next: A Few Details Emerge.