Mexico

I am no more the answer to your problems than Mexico is. I am just here, and it is south of the border. I can speak with strange accents and pretend adventure. At the end of the day, I still work for a newspaper. There is another, and so many more that do that. Mexico is an illusion. I am not sure it even exists. I am not sure that the next block does either, until I have to pass through it on the way to purchase sour cream for this baked potato.