When his university sent Viktor Kalashnikov to transfer to a third world country for his foreign language course, he didn't really believe that they would force him to learn everything about the culture, but that's what it was and he dares to say that it was the worst day of his life, using the 'metro', getting on different 'micros', to end up getting lost with her bad Spanish and horrible English and of course, only carrying dollars along with rubles instead of Mexican pesos... fortunately a lady from the third age saw him desperate and pathetic, so he gave him one bottle water and twenty pesos, with which he ended up buying some potatoes with lemon and salt, sitting in the center of the Zócalo, eating and silently lamenting. .

At least until he saw a huge show a few meters away from him, so he got up and sat on the floor next to some children, wanting to see the show and...shit, his heterosexuality stayed in Russia, because when he saw a Mexican with a good physique put on a kind of show with an "Guerrero Azteca" costume, which leaves little to the imagination, it didn't take long for him to turn red like blood, including that small movement he felt in his groin that made him tighten his backpack in his arms out of pure fear.

"О Господи..."