In high school we’d go down to Tijuana to drink. We’d park on the US side of the border, then walk across and catch a cab. A couple of times on the return, drunk enough, we’d go up into the hills slightly to the east of the crossing, and sneak across. For fun. We got caught once by the Border Patrol and got taken to an office for a stern lecture. No parents, thank god. That was a different time.
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