I first saw New Mexico when I was 17. It all started in Denver, Colorado, at a party. Around midnight I was splayed on a shag-pile rug gazing at a lava lamp when I decided we should all get up and go to Mexico. I persuaded one volunteer, who was so drunk she didn’t know she’d volunteered, and we stuck our thumbs out in the dark. We were immediately picked up by a soldier heading to his base …

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