I was concerned that might flight to Mexico City on 3/5 might get cancelled due to bad storms on the east coast and along the newly christened Gulf of Stupid Fucking Assholes. I was thrilled to find out that I was merely an hour delayed and getting in around the same time. However, the pilots were late and after 3 hours on the runway, we went back to the gate and I stood on the longest, non-moving line in history to see what “American” could do for me, which was a round trip car service to my apartment, which I shared with the nice Indian chef and food researcher who was sitting next to me. I got home around 1am and after just under 3 hours of sleep, I got back in a car at 6am to JFK. When I made my to the gate for the 10:30am flight (around 8am) the screen said “Boarding Complete. Flight Closed,” which was thankfully just an error that wasn’t corrected, even after I boarded. Triggering. Fuck American. Never again.

When I walked into the building where my apartment is, it was dark, and I didn’t see a step, so I tripped and fell hard, injuring my fingers. My middle was bend and unmovable and I assumed it was broken.

I was too freaked out to know what to do but my amazing girlfriend found an “Urgent Care for Ex-Pats” called CliniMed and I got in an Uber to the Polanco neighborhood. I got an X-ray and the doctor told me it was indeed broken. However, I cannot see a fracture on the X-ray (or the radiologists report) and I suspect it’s just a bad sprain or some kind of trauma. He splinted me and then I headed over for a completely amazing seafood dinner at nearby Entremar, the sister restaurant of the famous Contramar. Perfect ceviche, a tuna tostada, a whole fish and a mezcal with Jamaica cocktail.

☕️🙂☕️