We’re in Mexico for the rest of the week, trying on the Ex-Pat lifestyle just in case Donald Trump wins the election.

Memphis Earlene feels right at home,  especially after dark, having discovered the Vampirito, a fearsome mix of tequila and mystery juice.

Margaritas, she tells me, are strictly for gringos. So is Montezuma’s revenge.

Shouldn’t have had the cilantro.  Ditto the chopped cucumber.  Should have kept my mouth closed when I washed my face.  Ditto in the shower.

Feel like I’m fixing to die.  Find myself wondering, in a compassionate way, how Trump  covers his Male Pattern Baldness. Comb over or toupee?

“I don’t want to live in a place where you can’t drink the tap water,” I tell Memphis Earlene.

“That leaves out Flint Michigan, gringo.”

Also St. Joseph, Louisiana, anyplace near a Duke energy coal ash pond in North Carolina, Southwest Baltimore charter school drinking fountains.  All those lead pipes.  All that crumbling infrastructure

Paying for water you can use for brushing your teeth as the New Normal?

Why not be ahead of the curve?   In Mexico they  sell real Coca-Cola, the kind made with real sugar, not corn syrup. It’s sold in glass bottles.

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