You know when you’re at a spaghetti party for the holidays with the Junta de vecinos – all 19 of them – 20 including you – 22 including infants – and a guy is standing up talking about how Jesú Cristo created man 2013 years ago and you’re sitting there like, Wait a second…, and then you get such a strong whiff of urine that you actually look down at your lap just to make sure you didn’t just then, without your knowledge, wet yourself. And then you can’t focus at all because you’re looking around at your neighbors’ crotches, attempting to be discrete, to see if there’s wetness or a puddle on the ground and then you eye the window you’re sitting next to and start wondering if a man is outside peeing on the building, or perhaps a gang of kids are all simultaneously peeing on the building, maybe it’s even a political statement, like We don’t need a neighborhood group! And you make peace with just never knowing what exactly went down that day. But then later that evening some women are laughing about the smell. It was the old woman in the corner. Should’ve known.