When one inhabits the world’s most populated streets, it’s not very difficult to fall through the cracks. Mexico City is the stage set for a chaotic and peculiar play: mundane routine steeped in flurry and hubbub. There is no underlying order, nor design. The private dissolves into the public. Trams, motorbikes, buses and bodies risk collision at any moment. People yell loudly to celebrate, to commiserate and to advertise. Eyes, tongues and testicles float in vats of boiling stock, co-inhabiting pavements with shoe-shiners and sex workers. It’s reality theatre. And it’s impossible to avoid that some things, and people, pass by unperceived.