I broke into a house in Coyoacán to steal, but found a blind girl tied to a chair. She whispered, “Did my mom come back to sell me again?” I decided to steal her back instead. As we reached the front door, heavy footsteps echoed from the dark hallway, and a voice growled, “Who is in there?”…

fraction of a second, I understood with brutal clarity that I was unequivocally not the most malevolent thief who had trespassed across this threshold.

The sprawling kitchen, contrary to the affluent facade of the Coyoacán estate, was a barren wasteland. My frantic, silent search yielded nothing but a stale, petrified half-roll of bread, a dented tin continue reading …