My feet ached all night long.  The tips of my toes felt like they’d been frostbitten.  More than just the wicked design of my shoes, a mutant strain of aggressive arthritis had been circulating through my system for the last fifteen years, showing up at random intervals to viciously disable the joints in my legs and elbows.  I suspected gout but had never tested for elevated uric acid.  Although autoimmune diseases run in my mother’s side of the family, I hadn’t tested positive for any of those either.  What could be the cause then, outside of a direct attack by the Devil?

That day my plan was to travel to Teotihuacan, the ruins of the great Mesoamerican city and site of the Pyramid of the Sun and the Pyramid Moon.  I’d been out there a half dozen times by now.  The plan was to draw a rune and take it to the ruins.  The next day I’d be leaving for Cancun and the pyramids of Chichen Itza and Uxmal on the Yucatan Peninsula.  The rune that I picked for that day was Thurisaz, the rune of self-defense or boundaries.

At the turn of the millennium Teotihuacan was the largest and most culturally advanced city on the planet.  It was known as birthplace of the gods and was considered the center of the universe.  To get there I had to take the Metro Line 9 to the 3 to the 7 and get off at Autobuses Del Norte.  There was a direct bus to the pyramids, Autobuses Teotihuacan, with about thirty people waiting in line.  It seemed to take a long time to get out of the city.  When we arrived, the bus dropped us off outside Gate 1. 

On this day the vendors were not being aggressive.  They sat strewn in the scant shade, giving half-hearted cries, only slightly lifting their heads.  I got on the Avenue of the Dead and started towards the Pyramid of the Sun, past the Patio of the Four Temples.  There were a series of walls to walk up and down.  I passed a ring of stones, like the site of a campfire and then a giant anthill where red ants were streaming in and out, like miniature versions of the people who had once ascended and descended the two pyramids in the distance.  On this day, no one was climbing up and down them, however.  They had been roped off, due to the pandemic.  That was an enormous buzzkill.

The last time I’d been to Teotihuacan, I’d reached the top of the Pyramid of the Sun, at the same time a religious cult was occupying it with New Age praise songs.  The view of the valley is the one you travel to see, mysterious fireworks or gunshots often ringing out in the vicinity.  This time there was no such excitement, only a few vendors at the base of it.  I found a spot to take a picture of my rune stone, then took a few selfies wearing my undynamic skull bandana, which hung from my nose like a tablecloth. 

I walked down to the Pyramid of the Moon just to do it, but it too was closed.  My feet felt like the description of the dying person in the Book of the Dead, both freezing in ice water and boiling in hot water at the same time.  A vendor came out from behind a rock with a jaguar whistle and tried to entice me with a seductive roar.  Not on this day.  Although the closure of the pyramids was a disappointment, I’d still gotten what I came for.  I decided to head back to the Templo Mayor in the Zocalo while it was still early.

Back at the bus station, there was a great shrine to the Virgen of Guadalupe at the entrance.  You see this protective deity at most places of transportation in Mexico.  It was a long walk through the subway when I went to transfer trains. 

On the wall of the subway there was a series on futuristic monster-creatures, born in laboratories.  It was something out of the Matrix.  Some dark mind had gained access to the greatest public forum in the city.  There were babies with lobotomies, a kitten hooked up to a generator, two cyberpunks with laser glasses, ready to blow up the planet, and yet real life was much scarier than that.  Dragging my damaged feet across the tile floor, I exited the turnstile.