They came pouring down Calle Nemesio Diez from the direction of the tony Rosewood Hotel. Skeletal faces, gloriously made up and draped in period-piece finery.
These were the traditional — and many untraditional — Catrinas and Catrines of Dia de Muertos.
They walked slowly, awkwardly — the effect being of spirits who’d just crossed over the void and had not yet accustomed their spindly bone legs to cobblestone streets. Continue reading
Make no bones about it, The Day of the Dead — days, actually — are nearly upon us. The signs are all around us.
Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 