From my Last Word column in this week's Creative Loafing.
When I was a boy, the roads surrounding my home were still dirt and I would walk, barefoot, between my house and my grandmother's place. On an adventurous day, I might cut through the woods, avoiding the briars and the snakes they likely hid. Although the city limits were creeping closer, Moultrie felt very far away to my small eyes. Atlanta was as foreign and distant as the great cities of the North.Read the rest here.