Jul 6, 2026 · 23 min · 8 segments
The Roma neighborhood is one of Mexico City’s most famous spots. Thousands of people walk its streets every day, drawn by its architecture, parks, cafés, bars, and legends. But when night falls, some…
At night, leaving work always after ten, sometimes even later, I had to walk to Glorieta de Insurgentes to catch the metro and start the long ride home.
There were people who told me to be careful given the hour, but honestly, I felt pretty calm walking around there, especially being used to my own neighborhood.
If that didn't scare me, a fancy little neighborhood like that one wasn't going to either.
People walking their dogs, tourists taking photos, people going in and out of cafes or restaurants, plus everyone walking through on their way to work.
But after a certain hour, some of the streets, the ones that aren't main roads, where there's nothing open, turn into something completely different.
They're still pretty, still lit up, but they feel empty in a way that's hard to explain.
I'd walk several blocks until I reached the Glorieta de Insurgentes, and from there take the metro back to Iztapalapa.
I don't remember the exact time, but it must have been past eleven thirty, because I remember wondering what I'd do if I missed the metro.
No cars, no people, not even music coming from anywhere, no one walking their dogs.
It was one of those nights where it seemed like the whole street had decided to stay home.
I was walking quickly when I saw something further ahead, near one of the sidewalks.
Then I thought maybe it was someone experiencing homelessness, judging by how they were dressed.
He was sitting on the curb with his feet toward the street, next to a parked car, knees pulled up and wrapped in his arms, head resting between them as if he were asleep or crying.
At night, leaving work always after ten, sometimes even later, I had to walk to Glorieta de Insurgentes to catch the metro and start the long ride home.
There were people who told me to be careful given the hour, but honestly, I felt pretty calm walking around there, especially being used to my own neighborhood.
If that didn't scare me, a fancy little neighborhood like that one wasn't going to either.
People walking their dogs, tourists taking photos, people going in and out of cafes or restaurants, plus everyone walking through on their way to work.
But after a certain hour, some of the streets, the ones that aren't main roads, where there's nothing open, turn into something completely different.
They're still pretty, still lit up, but they feel empty in a way that's hard to explain.
I'd walk several blocks until I reached the Glorieta de Insurgentes, and from there take the metro back to Iztapalapa.
I don't remember the exact time, but it must have been past eleven thirty, because I remember wondering what I'd do if I missed the metro.
No cars, no people, not even music coming from anywhere, no one walking their dogs.
It was one of those nights where it seemed like the whole street had decided to stay home.
I was walking quickly when I saw something further ahead, near one of the sidewalks.
Then I thought maybe it was someone experiencing homelessness, judging by how they were dressed.
He was sitting on the curb with his feet toward the street, next to a parked car, knees pulled up and wrapped in his arms, head resting between them as if he were asleep or crying.
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