I was born down south of that imaginary line. I loved it. I hated it. I left it. I returned. I love it again. I'm not as old as I hope to get, but still, I am far from being young. The clock is ticking, the wallpaper is drying,(metaphor for Jerry, eh? Y'all knew that though, didn't you? My brain cells are crumbling and I reckon it is now or never. I live to write and yes, I write to live. Wasn't that a song back in the dark ages? Now or Never?