“It’s the worst barrio in the city,” said Seb. “A gringo with a camera and cellphone, who barely speaks Spanish? They’d think Christmas had come early this year. You’d be robbed in minutes, or worse.” It was where he was from. The dark streets of Tepito, with the rustling, plastic roofs of vendors’ stalls, were as familiar to him as the various scars on his body – and living there had been just as enjoyable as getting them.

The American looked sceptical. “It can’t really be that bad, can it?”

“Yes,” said Seb. “Trust me – stay away. Go do all the tourist things in your guidebook. They don’t put Tepito in there for a reason.” He smiled, took another puff of his cigarette. “The paddle boats in Chapultepec Park are very nice.”

Mike pulled a face; he opened his mouth to say something else and then glanced at the scene below. “Hey, look at that,” he laughed, propping his forearms on the railing again as he looked down. “The little scamp.”

Crushing out his cigarette, Seb followed his gaze and saw a street child slipping through the crowd that stood watching the dancers – a girl of seven or so, with tousled dark hair. Seen from above, her hand motion was clear as she dipped it into a man’s jacket pocket and then out again, quickly tucking whatever she’d found under her shirt. Seb smiled slightly, remembering all too well the feel of it – the quick flex of the fingers, the grasp and pull, all the while making sure that you didn’t touch the sides of the pocket.

Mike went back to talking about Tepito; Seb’s eyes stayed on the girl, watching as she manoeuvred through the crowd. Thin, and so young, with big brown eyes and a dirty face. He knew she probably lived in one of the abandoned buildings not far from the centro, or maybe down in the sewers. It was a tough life – god, such a tough life, with so many dangers in it. Even now, years later, he was amazed sometimes that he’d made it out alive.

It had still been better than that place they’d put him in.

“Well, what about the Lagunilla market?” Mike was saying. “Is that one all right to go to?”

“Yes, it’s not too bad,” said Seb distantly. “Just stay in the streets near Francisco Bocanegra and Comonfort; it’s safer at that end.”

“Okay, thanks.” Mike smiled. “Hey, maybe I’ll ask those three French girls to come with me, if I can drag them away from the cathedral. You want to come too? I think that one, Céline, has a thing for you.”