Sun Scald Shuffle

This piece is a heatmap—CDMX, mid-blister. No mercy from the sun; even the pigments in the concrete want to bail out and run. Every scrap is three-block local. I don’t import nostalgia, I import curb shards and sunburned vinyl. Found enough yellow tape to barricade a taco stand, didn’t find any mercy. Four panels, each out of line, so you can’t stand still. You shuffle sideways, like dodging scaffold poles or chasing the only slice of shade. The seams don’t align. That’s the point—it’s a city that never lets you see the whole thing flat. I built this so you pace, you squint, you feel the street’s improvisation under your feet. I don’t do memory lane—I do the lane you’re about to trip on. The cost? Sunburned hands, concrete grit under the nails, and the satisfaction of turning civic code into a wall you can’t ignore.