Who are you going to believe, the pundits? The pundits said Trump would never get this far. They said he would never actually run for president, because he thought about it in 1988, and said he was thinking about it in 2004, and floated it again in 2012. They said he just wanted attention—for his reality television show, for his golf courses, his buildings, his product lines. They said he would never disclose his assets, as required by election law. They pointed out that he is a germophobe who does not like to shake hands, as if something like that would stop Trump when he believed his country was in trouble.

Then, when he did run, they said he would not get anywhere, because, according to polls, the majority of Republicans can’t stand him. Now that he has risen to the top of the field, they say he won’t last. But why should you believe them now?

The pundits love to talk about what Trump is really doing, because he can’t really be running to be president. Is he trying to boost his brand? Is he trying to make more money? But money-wise, this deal is a loser for Trump. He has lost his hit TV show and his Macy’s clothing line. Univision refused to air the Trump-owned Miss USA pageant. He is funding the campaign out of his own pocket.

What if—the most terrifying thought of all—the presidency, not approval or money or anything else, is what he really wants? “I’m in first place by a lot, it seems, according to all the polls,” Trump says, in his New York accent, with his usual facial expression: a sort of perpetually nonplussed duckface, like he is continually being impressed with himself anew. “We’ll see soon enough, but I think I’ll get the nomination.”

Trump is standing, now, in a sweaty little tent next to an eight-lane trucking bridge that connects Laredo, in the U.S., with Nuevo Laredo, in Mexico. Traffic on the U.S. side has been halted—the semis are backed up as far as the eye can see; Laredo is America’s largest inland port—and Trump has just toured the administrative post on the other side of the highway. “We were treated so nicely,” he says. “We learned so much in such a quick period of time.”

Trump is wearing white golf shoes, pale khakis, a blazer with gold buttons, and a white cap that says MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN above a braided cord. The strawberry-blond hair at his temples is moist with sweat. Behind him are two very New York-looking men with dark suits and earpieces. There are at least 50 reporters clustered in the tent. They came here on two air-conditioned charter buses, furnished by Trump.

One of the policemen guarding the tent, Sergeant Robert Medina, tells me to Google the television series he was in some years ago, Bordertown: Laredo. Everybody likes to be famous. Everybody has a reality show these days. Medina, a former narcotics officer whose father immigrated from Mexico, says he sees with his own eyes the things Trump describes. He spits a stream of tobacco juice. “He’s made some pretty profound statements,” Medina says. “I’d vote for him twice if I could.”