The real Mexico

There is a noticeable difference in roads from one country to another. The ones in Mexico are for brave drivers. No one I’ve seen so far displays any signs of anxiety regardless of how fast or slow they are moving. Whipping from one to another, some times with oncoming traffic barreling towards you at unknown speeds: that’s par for the course here. I wonder if they have driver’s ed?

Maybe it’s the freely available prescription meds that keep everyone so calm when facing the rapidly approaching grill of a mac truck. Maybe it’s just a way of life that disregards the things that could kill you.

Perhaps you just don’t worry much about car accidents when other people in your country are regularly beheaded by drug lords.

The heat has been unbearable today, and I don’t have much faith in my car’s ability to take me all the way to  Mexico City and back with the AC on full blast. So I’m sweating it out, letting the perspiration clean my pores as the sun’s light burns bacteria out of my skin.

If it weren’t for the increased cancer risk, this would definitely be the way to eliminate pimples. Just sitting back, watching the road stretch ahead, and the occasional wheel jerk whenever someone enters  my lane (heading the wrong direction, of course) for no reason that I can discern. People out here on the Federal Highway just don’t operate like average human beings. There’s something wild in them. They’re uncivilized in a marvelous, life-affirming way. I just hope it doesn’t lead to my death.


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