It was my first week in Mexico City and someone was screaming outside my window. At first I thought it was a drunk headed home from a nearby bar; as it grated on, I realized this was no drunk.
I went to my window and saw a woman in jeans and a sweatshirt and a man next to her slumped over against the wall of the middle school across the street. A third man walked away from the couple, passing in front of an idling truck. As he moved through the truck’s headlights I saw he was holding a machete. Without reason or warning he stopped and looked up at my window. I still do not know if he saw me, but I was so terrified by the possibility that I lay awake all night afraid to move, convinced I could hear the truck circling the block until sunrise. The lesson I learned is that sometimes things happen, and when they do, you cannot go to the window.