This morning, between the dentist’s office and my car, I spotted a Gang Member on the loose between Av. Acueducto and Calz. Fray Antonio de San Miguel. No doubt the poor man had strayed from San Miguel de Allende all the way to Morelia. Or he may have been staying at one of the hot new B&Bs along the calzada – Casa San Diego or Posada del Artista.
Thanks to Stuff White People Like, I was able to quickly identify that he wasn’t from here. A hand-knitted scarf, nattily and carefully tossed over his shoulder, set him off from the rest of the crowd. Now, I’m not sure whether he was gay or Northern European. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. Of course, there’s always the chance that he was both. He had on European shoes, the kind which would be marked as lesbian shoes if worn by a woman, expensive, unstructured suede, and no doubt hand-made by an honest, French-speaking cobbler. And carried a man-purse. Freshly ironed clothing that obviously had just been plucked from expensive luggage and a straw hat of a provenance not Mexican signaled that he was not from these parts. Or even the D.F.
What was he doing, looking like he was lost and idly posing on the corner in the rain minutes before noon? Scouting out new territory? Giving myself license to gawk, I stopped ten meters away from him, turned around, and stared. We Mexicans often stare at gringos as if they’re from another planet.
Quickly, I checked over what I happened to have on, lest I be identified as a rival gang member. Mephistos, SmartWool socks, jeans, Ralph Lauren shirt, LeSportsSac purse. Rolex. Mont Blanc black glasses. I think I passed for the local that I am. Or at least an aging fresa. At least the gang member didn’t stare back.