Almost
every Sunday, I sit in the 4th pew from the altar at the 1:15 Spanish mass. It's not an
ideal spot, since the vent for the air conditioner is perched directly above
us, leaving us stunted with cold, and shafts of sunlight pierce the slanted
windowpanes at a cruel angle. But that's where my mother insists that we sit.
She wants to get a good seat, like it's a production of Hamilton.
