In just a few years, it has become like this.
At that time, Mexico was truly a backyard garden.
How long has it been?
Five years, perhaps?
Casare followed Little Bush's gaze out the window at the tumultuous sea of lights and people, his voice calm:
"Mr. President, the people are actually very simple."
"They don't care who rules them, whether it's Washington or Mexico City, the Democratic Party or the revolution, or something else."
"They care about order, safety, the price of bread, whether there's meat in the bowl, and whether they're afraid of hearing gunshots on the way home at night."
Casare paused, turned his head, and in those small eyes flashed as he looked at Little Bush, his tone even carrying a hint of "instruction":
"Whoever gives them these things, even just a little seemingly stable hope, they will cheer for you."
"As for the cost..."
