Why Mexico? I asked.
“I am Mexican.”
I spotted the shirt coming my way but wasn’t initially sure whose jersey was it. The absence of any advertisement meant it was a national team jersey but from the distance I couldn’t see the emblem well. It turned out to be the latest Mexican away shirt, simple and beautiful. When I asked Omar to spell his name for me, the routine I stick with just in case, he raised his left hand with a large ring on his middle finger which read Omar. That is as far as our exchange went since our families took off in the opposite directions down the street and we both had to run after them.