Dear Touristos,

I am watching you. I’ve looked over this vista for centuries, and you may think me immovable, inert. Today my children hawk wares under plastic tarps; masks and blankets and noise-makers mimicking primal screams. Hear the calls of the jaguar issuing from the jungle? You jump at first, then become inured.

The sun sets behind my pyramid, and when it does my children change. I watch you dawdle, imagining a young man’s heart pulled beating from his chest, blood wearing grooves down the many stairs. You think modern life dull in comparison. You thought the jaguar’s screams were false. But you were wrong.

When the sun sets, you will see.