Caffé au Stank

It's a brilliant, sunny day in Mexico City, a light breeze blowing through the 70-degree air. Lavender buds on trees lining a walkway sway gently back and forth as the sun twinkles down on the city. What a perfect day to work on my story outside at a café near Parque España, it seems.

But I can't smell the lavender buds. I can only smell exhaust fumes and stinky trash cans. I can't hear the rustle of the leaves, just the rushing of cars whizzing around the park and the piercing shriek of car alarms. Within the first two minutes I was approached by a man peddling piggy banks and a window washer, and I suspect they won't be the last. Maybe I should just stick to the refuge of my 9th floor balcony and enjoy some soluble coffee from my microwave instead.