Mexican Colonias

Mexican Colonias.

That Neighborhood of...mine.

The general population consists of grouchy old seniors that walk around like a mile per

hour, and gossip alot about what definately does NOT   concern them. They amuse me

mostly, the nice snootty ladies in particular because they’d rather stay inside their

homely places rather than go out without a pound of make-up, femme-fatale for their red

lips, and dressed as the belles of the ball; smashing two-piece ensambles that look as if

they’d come out of a nice 50’s curtain set... Oh! And Of course! -Alluding that

notorious declassé decor of the nouveau riche,   the finishing touch is at least 6 pieces of

yellow gold scattered on the respective appointed places for jewels.

It’s not a neighborhood per se; it’s what we Mexicans call a ‘Colonia’, the equivalent of

a County I think... And it is located on an old chunk of town, (not nearly as old as the

rest of the city, it has around 70 years or so, and it was used as country houses for rich

people of old). The streets are cobbled and overcome with greenery, and cracked

flagstones overrun with moss decorate every side-walk.

Most of the houses are mouldy and humid, but with some tweaking they just exude

charm and coziness.

My house presents a large wooden door, and a small side door. The first one gives you

entrance to the orchard, (its beautiful; we have fig trees, citrus trees, guava trees, a

vegetable patch that seems to be fed from magic soils because it’s evergreen all year

long, and some farm animals along with a couple of deer). The latter leads to my house,

which is not a real house itself, it’s more a kind of studio, because of it’s small size. It’s

all wooden and shadowy because of a huge avocado tree that prevents most of the

sunlight to stream inside. There is a hearth made of marble stone   in the middle of the

main room, then a long corridor that follows to the rooms, a weird kitchen because it...