Erwin Schrodinger got pulled over at the border. They asked him what he had in the trunk of his car. While he pondered how to respond without sounding insane, he looked up at the border crossing sign and discovered that he was being detained midway between Mexifornia and Califexico. “That depends,” he answered.
One customs agent held him at gunpoint while the others went around to the back and, without asking for the keys, sprang the trunk with a crowbar. There were screams. The agent with the gun ran around back to see what was happening; nor did he return.
Schrodinger put the car into drive and pulled forward into San Diego with a lurch that caused the trunk to bang shut.
Sometimes, even today, drunken fratboys coming back from Tijuana say that on still nights, above the honking of the stalled cars and the cries of the Chiclet vendors, you can hear the Policia screaming. The word they are screaming sounds a little like meow.