By the San Juan de Aragón woods, on the northeast edge of Mexico City, stands a building complex of one-story buildings, framed by a white railing, always closed and guarded by a watchman in a black uniform. This complex and the neighboring woods are separated only by a few blocks from the Benito Juárez Airport; the airplanes that take off and land every few minutes feel very near whilst flying at such low altitudes. Inside one of these buildings exists an archive containing the documented history of the now desiccated Lake Texcoco: it is a small, low-profile-roofed hall, with a few wooden shelves keeping folios wrapped in maroon leather, along with a few thin-paged, softcover books. Atop the wooden furniture, a thin layer of dust, a smell of old paper and humidity. [...]