I got onto the bus going towards avenue Reforma. I didn’t feel very at home in the shirt I picked out, because although it was purple, it was a bit too light-colored. After paying, I sat down next to a woman around sixty-or-so years old. She had a blouse that was the perfect color: a beautiful purple. 

She asked me the time; it was 10:45. The meeting was scheduled for 11am on the 8th of march. I noticed she had a poster rolled up in her hand.

–I’m also going to the march, I told her.

–I’ve never been to one, but there’s always a first time.

–Yes. It’s great that you’re excited to do it now.

–Well, excited, I’m not really excited. More like angry. It’s just that, one shouldn’t be born a woman simply to die for being one, right?