It’s never fun to have your car break down. Worse when you’re a white woman traveling with a black man through rural Texas. When I left for Mexico, my friends hassled me. “The drive’s going to be dangerous.” They were talking about the Mexican side of the border - me in my ’98 Honda Accord pulling a 5-by-8 trailer loaded with all my belongings and getting pestered for mordidas. Yet, their prediction was way off. Narcos and corrupt police aside, the rough part was on American turf.
