And there, my friends,” declared our guide, gesturing out at a sprawling mountain view, “is where we will soon see The Great Wall of Trump.” Everyone laughed. Then we stared. We were in West Texas, high in the Chinati Mountains — yes, Virginia, there are mountains in Texas — and it was hard to imagine a giant wall smack dab in the middle of that fantastic view. But there it was, in the thick of rugged desert beauty few Americans trek out to see: a gigantic, imaginary line, primed, if our enthusiastic president gets his wish, for a “big, beautiful wall.”
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