Fear and loathing in The Villages
We were somewhere around Brooksville, near The Villages, when the acid reflux began to take hold. I was prepared. My wife, Thia, riding shotgun beside me, always carried my drug stash in her purse: my Pepcid, edema pills, blood thinners just in case. I swallowed a couple of Pepcid, felt the relief course through me. At my advanced age, I would need my full health and wits about me on this perilous mission to the savage heart of Trump territory.
This was the the day Vice President Mike Pence was slated to visit The Villages, Florida’s huge 130,000-person senior residential community, Manhattan-sized, “America’s Friendliest Hometown.” We’d decided to take a little day trip, leaving our high-rise abode in Tampa, where we practice safe distancing, and where, like so many of you, we’ve been trying not to go utterly out of our minds.
The months of Trump/COVID-era breaking news, bombshell after bombshell out of Washington, the viciousness of the national discourse, the tensions of the election — never mind my stomach, my psyche’s near shot.
As we roll toward The Villages, a virus-stricken Trump is currently on steroids. In the past week alone, he King Konged his way out of Walter Reed Hospital, switched to Tony the Tiger, “I feel g-r-r-reat!,” then boarded the Marine One helicopter, banked off the Washington Monument, landed on the White House lawn, ascended the balcony, ripped off his mask, Evita!
https://www.tampabay.com/opinion/2020/10/16/fear-and-loathing-in-the-villages-column/
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Not a paywall for me. 
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