Here is the view from my apartment, four minutes ago:
Yes, your eyes aren’t failing you: It’s a BLUE sky with GREEN trees on a PERFECT FRIDAY AFTERNOON.
Earlier this month, when we were waiting to board our flight from Newark to Mexico City, I was subjected to some college-aged idiot sitting next to us who was clearly not headed to Mexico City but still had plenty to say about it to his adult sisters. I got the sense that he had figured out that B and I lived in Mexico, and we were headed home — a home he couldn’t imagine two perfectly normal-looking white people living in, ever.
So, a chance for him to share off his knowledge to those around him:
*Imagine Northern New Jersey accent, a la Tony Soprano. IDIOT is muscle-bound, overly tan, completely devoid of body hair, and is wearing a snug white t-shirt and a ballcap backward. You know the type? Yeah, me too.*
IDIOT in loud voice, to his sisters: Mexico City….Didja know, like, that’s the most polluted city on the planet?
IDIOT: No really. It is. You know why? Because they, like, sit in this big bowl, so the shit just sits there all the time. It’s awful.
IDIOT: Man, it’d suck to go there. Pollution and crime. You know, all that pollution and crime.