Well, here I am in Mexico City. It's pretty much like I remembered it, although the folks live in a more central location than the last time. I'm drinking Corona de barril, am slightly sunburned from spending a few hours climbing pyramids at Teotihuacan, and am smoking Raleigh cigarettes, which are gloriously unfiltered, oval in shape, and come 18 to a pack. I traded a pack of Luckies for 'em with the security guard downstairs, who is one hell of an artist. I'm gonna have him ink a portrait of Kierkegaard for me.

Paris Hilton's bony frame can be see on billboards and posters all over the city, along with metric fucktons of cell phone ads, weirdly familiar cars, and a smog level that has to be seen (and breathed) to be believed.

So, yeah, I have nothing to say about Ciudad Mexico that hasn't been said by every other lazy gringo that's come down here. Thankfully, unlike a lot of said lazy gringos, I'm just familiar enough with living in a Latin city to not be too thrown off by this place. It's easier just to shrug and accept things for what they are.

Hope all is well with y'all.