In February, I taught memoir writing at a conference in Mexico where the faculty is traditionally put up with local hosts. Mine was especially communicative in the months leading up to my arrival, going out of his way to indicate affordable rooftop bars, the finest locations to view murals, and general best practices for the city he’d adopted as his own.
So when I told my host that I have chronic insomnia, I felt he’d take me seriously, given how generous he’d been in his emails. “I’ve traveled a lot throughout Mexico,” I wrote him. “And the one thing I can’t deal with as an insomniac is roosters.”
