In the squares, there is a void of artisans selling their products and the gap allows us to feel a dense atmosphere full of fear of exploring the environment. The benches miss the sweat of all the loves prostrated in the innumerable kisses they have witnessed.
There is no one to feed the pigeons or give the leftovers to the stray dog. I even miss the beggar selling bracelets, my countrymen from Chiapas carrying their blouses. Young urban artists have left their proclamations wrapped in the soul, pressed by the desire to go out and sound loud; as well as the dancers, the cyclists, the walkers, the marquesitas and the elotes, the workers, the shopkeepers …
Only some come out covering their mouths suffocated by the hot air of the environment combined by their breath fearing the presence of the invisible enemy in their bodies.
The injunction to confinement is already too long to be taken seriously. The hug, the “little faje”, the passionate kiss are missed; just shaking hands and feeling the energy of a friend. The friction of bodies without fear, the closeness in the bus, getting close to someone on the truck, “hacer bola” in meetings or family gatherings, or rallies …