**One minute you’re ringing in the new year with your best pals on the balcony of your bachelor pad. ** **And then before the month is even up you find yourself sitting in the cab of your truck parked outside of the motel room you have been forced to live out of. You are charging your phone while cashing out your 401(k) because you’re down to the last $1.20 in your checking account. The owner of the motel is cool enough to let keep the room for you as you make sure the money is sent via direct deposit. ** **That’s not even the craziest parts of this story, believe it or not. A wildfire that erased an entire city and ruined my life was literally just the fuse being lit on a stick of dynamite leading up to the explosive events that have recently unmoored my unusual life once again. ** **Before I ramble though, I’ll honor the tradition of starting with what kicked all of this into motion seven months ago at the very beginning. ** **** **My name is Trent Rainer and this is the story of my new life. My old one was completely ruined in a literal trial by fire, so I wound up finding salvation and a second calling in a sleazy, dirty border town. As of the last few days yours truly has found himself caught in a turf war between a rogue American grey man and the Mexican cartel mercenaries who control the town (and of course happen to also be my friends, as life would have it). ** **** **“Just keep driving until we run out of gas.” I said to myself again for at least the twentieth time. The mantra was both freeing and despairing but it was the only thing my rattled brain could come up with at the time. My old home in the California Palisades had been completely wiped out by the wildfire that broke out a whopping six days after NYE in 2025. As I said, one minute my pal Kyle and I are dousing each other in cheap champagne shirtless on my balcony while our other pals shoot Roman candles off - the next minute you’re white-knuckling your steer wheeling hissing the only mantra that makes sense. ** **** **** **The YouTube videos did not do it ANY justice, FYI. If you want to experience something akin to being a lead in a Lovecraft film, just imagine stepping outside of your home in sunny beachside California. Your typical stunning view is obscured by a wall of fire that is devouring everything in its path and your iPhone gets the EAS alert to immediately begin evacuating the area. Hours later as you are simply driving in a sort of mental autopilot mode, and while trying to process it all you get texts from your friends with YouTube video links. Those video links show your home and every house on it street engulfed in flames. ** **** **** **You get the point. ** **** **So, you may be asking yourself what’s a guy to do who just lost his house, everything he’s ever owned AND his job all in one day and can never get any of it back again? Apparently driving to Mexico after spending five days in a whiskey-drenched bender in a motel in New Mexico isn’t the answer that everyone would choose in my situation. But, however, that choice was mine and I own it. What the hell would you have done anyway? ** **Anyway, skipping past the surreal, boozy limbo period I spent in that motel, I literally drove until I hit Tijuana. With a lean but hefty five-figures resting in my savings account, three bags of clothes and valuables, my passport and ID, and no fucks left to give I waived my papers at the border agent. After a quick once-over of my passport I was let through and my truck pushed forward into who-knows-what-was-gonna-happen-next. ** **** **** **After I took in the suspect but warm welcome the notorious border town was known for I found the cheapest motel, Google’d a Spanish translation for my spiel, and soon found myself relaxing in the most humble but well-kept abode my heart could’ve desired. I had no idea what the fuck I was gonna do with my life, frankly didn’t care, and the bed felt amazing as I plopped down on it after getting my bags in the room. The mattress and comforter were probably older than both of my dead parents but I didn’t care. I just wanted rest, to be left alone, and to figure the rest out later.** **** **I definitely did not figure the rest out later but I needed to get laid. Thankfully the Tijuana hospitality circuit has every manner of graft and sexual license conceivable to the imagination available if you have the cash to cover it. ** **At some point 8 hours later I had one of those moments of clarity that arrive at the most random of times. I had probably been pissing pure tequila for around two hours while keeping enough of a boner to keep my threeway going until the two hot Mexican escorts and myself collapsed on another in a heaving, sweaty pile. Admittedly, this was probably the greatest thing that happened to me in a long time and I hated for the moment to end but, alas, all things indeed do come to an end (literally). ** **** **** **What the hell was I going to do for money?** **Considering that I was now basically an expat with zero shits to give about life I had no clue. I had been a mechanic most of my life and long ago gave up on the hubris and wealth most of my peers succumbed to so I never expected to be powerful, rich, or even likable for that manner. It was what it was. Yet half of Tijuana wound up believing that I was rich and powerful, and in a move that highlights both my incessant hubris and yearning, I owned it. ** **** **** **Not even a week ago I was a grease-splashed worker bee installing radiators and new spark plugs in cars. And now I was soon to viewed with an awe and respect usually reserved for demigods and late night televangelists.** **I’ll never know what sparked it but one of the locals and neighborhood legends took a liking to me very fast. I was concerned but reminded myself that I was no longer a cog in a machine emptying oil pans and replacing tire spokes forgotten about by modern America.** **** **The neighborhood legend I mentioned was a guy named Lupo and he was roughly my age, or a few years older. He always wore basketball shorts, flip flops and some stylish but low-end muscle shirt depicting either a beach bathed in the rays of a sunset or a woman in very revealing swimwear. That was his style and I liked it. I was hungover as fuck and basking in the afternoon sun in a lawn chair when Lupo first approached me with his posse in tow. I had no impressive words or memorable quotes at the top of my tongue but managed to say “Hey bruh.” in the druggiest and most disoriented way possible.** **** **“Amigo, long time no see. How are you?” Lupo answered as he walked over to my lawn chair with a knowing, good-natured smirk on his face. ** **“Amigo?” I replied as I reached for another Mexican beer from the styrofoam cooler. However, instead of successfully tangling another ice-cold bottle of fun I wound up leaning too far and fell right into the spotty and dried grass. ** **Lupo, or whoever he was, laughed and shook his head as he helped me sit up and used the bottle cap remover to open my fresh drink. ** **“I’m not sure how you know me but if you would be so kind as to explain how, that would alleviate a lot of my anxiety right about now.” I replied in the most casual tone I could muster. ** **** **Lupo grinned and pulled a lawn chair up beside me after saying something in Spanish to his entourage. After he took a seat and lit a joint he began to explain how we knew one another. ** **** **Roughly fifteen minutes later I was visibly confused but resigned to the story that had just been shared with me. The verbatim details and particulars escape me at the moment, especially considering that I had just spent the better of four days in a party-vibe haze after finally realizing my old “normal” life was over for good. However, being informed that this Lupo guy is a gun runner for the Mexican cartel and that you originally met him at a house party in San Diego also has a way of bringing one to their senses in a rather frenetic kind of way. ** **** **I was also informed that he approached me directly for friendship as there are not many lily-white skinned Americans roaming about, and the ones that typically arrive either bring trouble or are deep cover spooks.** **** **** **How’s this for an interesting Thursday morning?** **** **As I was processing everything I scanned the grass around me for another bottle of beer or water to quench my thirst with when gunfire began to ring out in the neighborhood. There were the obvious cries and shouts, as one could naturally expect, but Lupo stood there totally chilled out and unbothered. ** **I abruptly sat up, much more sober and awake than I was moments ago. Whatever was happening, I wasn’t planning on becoming a bullet magnet. ** **** **Lupo took a seat by me, fetched two icy beers from the cooler for us, and explained what the deal was. An unplanned and surprise “housekeeping call” had been sanctioned by Lupo which for those out of the loop means his cartel pals were going home to home shooting and killing any spooks they had found out and discovered. He told his friends that I was most definitely NOT a spook and that he would personally see to it that his old pal from the San Diego party was covered and vouched for. ** **** **On one hand, like, thank you. On the other hand, WTF?!** **** **So, this was the start of my new normal. We’ll call it the Tijuana Tilt, if you will. ** **To drive the point further home a young boy who was probably six or seven ran around the corner of the house giggling and making pew-pew gunshot sounds while using a stick for a pistol. ** **** **This was the beginning of my new arms dealing career.**