Last week Sam and I saw a fabulous play at the biblioteca, 'Night, Mother, by Marsha Norman, directed by our friend Taylor Korobow. It was so moving I couldn't really speak after it was over. Her partner, Joseph Kent, who produced and staged it, was also crying, "even though I've seen it in rehearsal for five and a half weeks," he said. So with a little cucumber sandwich in hand, Sam and I left, walking out the side door and up Relox towards the jardin. It was around 10pm and very few people were out. Yet the corn vendors were lined up along the east side of the park, the steam rising out of their carts in tandem. Strings of white lights encircled the laurel trees in the center of the jardin, all lit up bright like palm trees at a beach. Then the mariachis, troops of them each in their own groups' costumes, started taking turns playing. A 12-piece group in royal blue with silver buttons struck up first, serenading the empty jardin loudly and enthusiastically. Truly beautiful. Then another group started when they were finished, one of their members making his way up Cuna de Allende in his mariachi pants, and a grey sweatshirt. He looked a bit like he'd been kicked out, and was on his way back to plead for re-admission. We listened for a while, then strolled downhill to La Aldea, talking about the amazing performance of the mother in this play, who spends the evening with her grown daughter, trying to talk her out of committing suicide in an hour's time.