Avenida Ejercito Nacional, stretching out through Mexico City's glittery west side suburbs, is tree-shaded and quiet. One afternoon last week its peace dissolved in sounds familiar to every North American —the scream of braked tires, the clatter and bang of a rear-end collision. A sleek new Oldsmobile, with a pretty girl at the wheel, had smashed into a new Buick.
The girl jumped out, took one look at her smashed grill and headlights, and shrieked at the round little driver of the Buick. He was a stupid lout, cried she, and he probably sold...
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