When I first came to Mexico almost five years ago, people cautioned me against sleeping in the nude and told me to keep a bag packed by my bed at night, just in case. I had forgotten all about that warning until just after six this morning when I found myself out on the street clad only in a beach cover-up and crocs, with my cell phone and keys in my pocket. Yes, the beach cover-up was the first thing I grabbed when I heard my housemate thunder down the stairs screaming that he smelled gas and that we had to get out of our house.
A loud crash had awakened my other housemates, although I had slept through it. Apparently a driver had lost control of his vehicle before crashing into this house.
The sleepy occupants climbed over the wall to get out into the street. Meanwhile the truck spun around and continued down the street where it sheared off our water meter, struck the main gas line and then came to a stop on top of a hydro pole. The driver sat bleeding on the sidewalk until an ambulance showed up twenty-five minutes later. Rumor has it that the man has since died.