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I don’t know if this was the first day of horrific gun violence since I became a parent, or if it’s just the first one I’ve noticed since the birth. I am thinking about how I want out, for me and my child. I want to go to another place, a place where this won’t happen.

No place is perfect. Mexico, where my wife’s family live and where I’m taking my child, has its own problems, some of them just as foolishly, ruthlessly violent (although much of that violence is also due to the intervention of the USA.)

But I’m sick of this place, the stochastic terrorism of it. I want out!

Ridiculous a calculation as it is, between losing my life to the sort of dangers that plague the lives of Mexicans and catching a bullet from some white supremacist gunman who the news will pretend is acting alone, I’d rather risk Mexico.

I’m getting out.