Riding the metro in Mexico City is like shopping involuntarily in a really cramped space. “Chilangos” can do it in their sleep, literally. The other day I took Línea Dos from Pino Suarez to Tasqueña where I switched to the Tren Ligero on my way to El Museo Dolores Olmedo. As the train crawled intuitively south down the spine of la Calzada de Tlalpan in mid-afternoon, sunlight washed over seats in geometric shapes while adolescent, uniformed kisses faded from view through closing-train-door-frames. Passengers wore white lab coats with indecipherable documents in-hand, placed points on similarly indecipherable graphs in notebooks, kept attentive time to our ephemeral placement on the blue Línea Dos map above the mid-car window, or they were fast asleep, dream shopping. I watched (before I started recording) one dream shopper sleep straight through the piercing sounds of low quality contraband recordings coming from an early nineties portable cd player attached to a backpack: “OCHENTA BALADAS FAMOSAS, LE VALE DIEZ PESOS!” Seconds later, before opening his eyes, he purchased a disc with “NOVENTA ROLAS EN INGLÉS, SOLAMENTE DIEZ PESOS!” (ninety songs for roughly eighty cents) while Whitney Houston’s “I will always love you” played as the momentary soundtrack. I’ve come to understand the meaning of “El metro es cultura,” the clever, ubiquitous propaganda that clings to neon throughout the metro system in Mexico City, but línea dos is in a league of its own when it comes to dream shopping. Have a listen as the dream shoppers have their choice of a book about drug trafficking in Mexico for twenty pesos, a screwdriver with an interchangeable head for twenty pesos, a type of lint remover for ten pesos, and a combo package containing toothpaste and a toothbrush for ten pesos).  Dream Shopping (click to listen).