The people in my neighbourhood.

Guanajuato is a small city with a small, cozy downtown. After only a week and a half here I've come to know the characters who inhabit the city centre, by face if not by name. Some of note:

The musician with the red beret, who plays his guitar on the street and sings Hotel California very loudly with a Mexican accent.

The homeless man with the never-ending booger. We're talking six inches at least. I'm not sure if it is in fact a booger or sometime more serious, which worries me a little. The man has nappy brown hair and does not walk in a straight line.

The police officer who stands all day at the bottom Escuela Mexicana's tiny dead-end street, near a little plaza. He has a thin, serious face and a very big gun. He always say hello, but only if you say hello first.

The man with the short left leg, who wears black dress pants and shiny black shoes, one of which has a two-inch platform. He walks slowly through the city, sometimes reaching for the walls of buildings around awkward corners and narrow sidewalks.

Writing this, I'm realizing these people are all men. Perhaps that's because women in Mexico seem to keep a low profile, and I haven't noticed anyone particularly interesting.

On that note, I'll write about cantinas, machismo and Mexican plastic surgery in a few days.