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The day before I flew into Guadalajara, a warning popped up on my phone. The US state department said to be on alert. A cartel boss had just been killed, and clashes could break out any moment in the city. In times past, I would have thought, “maybe I should reroute my trip and head home early.” Except this time, my local Portland bar had been shot up a week earlier as multiple people exchanged gunfire in the middle of Hawthorne. Then, just a week later, a man was murdered in his apartment a few blocks in the other direction. No suspects, either way. And so, sitting there in a cafe in Mexico, I thought, “I don’t feel any safer at home than I do in a certified potential cartel warzone.” What a strange feeling.