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I visited the President of the United States at Mar-a-Lago – well, sort of.

I could have been driving along any street, anywhere in the non-desert United States. The sun was shining, traffic was light, and there was no indication that I was passing through anything other than an ordinary neighborhood.

Suddenly everything changed. Police cars were everywhere: Slowly patrolling the streets, parked along the sidewalks and driving into and out of a gated community. A bevy of police officers crowded the pavement and spilled out into the narrow road I was driving along.

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