An earthquake is in some way a dance between two tectonic plates. One moves towards the other and the latter retracts, animated by the impulse of the opposing plate. One fits itself under the other, one beside the other, and while they accommodate, they liberate energy upward, animating everything they sustain, shifting the land in tremors, in sways. Underneath the Valley of Mexico, The Cocos and North American Plates have been, for thousands of years, coexisting in the tension preceding the dance. Now and again they provoke and taunt each other, moving ever so subtly, thus changing, slowly, the configuration of the chessboard arising over the surface of this Earth: volcanoes, valleys, rivers, lakes, mountains, and more recently, a city that stands like a cardboard maquette, wobbling between two tilted tables. This human-scale model sinks at its very center with the weight of concrete and rock, only to settle over the floor of a desiccated lake: a floor made of sludge, algae, water, salt, and microorganisms sedimented for millenia. [...]