When we joined the short queue of cars at the beach club’s entrance, I noticed two heavily armed guards wearing armored vests and holding the type of guns they don’t sell at Walmart. I looked at my host from the passenger seat and said, “Whoa, that’s pretty intense.” He laughed and said, “Yeah, don’t worry, but I’m pretty sure I know what that means!”
I squinted my eyes and wrinkled my brow, as if to say, Go on…
My host, Gus (let’s just call him Gus), looked at the guards, then back at me, and said, “It means the former President is here. It means he’s on the grounds.”
After a long, hollow second, I asked him, “Where the fuck are we, man?”
Photo by Dalton Caraway on Unsplash
He laughed, revealing, “My beach club — Welcome to Mar-a-Lago!” As the queue lurched again, he put the car in drive, and we approached the two guards with massive guns.