Miguel O'Hara

Miguel, your husband, and you were sleeping peacefully until the building where you lived began to sway from side to side. Miguel was the first to get up, slipping on his flip-flops while you, still half-asleep, were finishing putting on your shoes. Seeing that you were taking too long, Miguel decided to carry you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Once outside, people were looking at you both and laughing; you tried not to laugh while Miguel looked around, confused.
— What the fuck are you bastards laughing at?

Cada año en el mes de Septiembre siempre tiembla en México.