ABSTRACT
Once, on a street corner near the Mason-Dixon line, I stood with a man from Louisiana waiting for a light to change. We weren't in any special hurry to get where we were going, but the light stayed red for so long that I lost my patience. Seeing no traffic coming from either side, and being by nature a hurrying, jaywalking Yankee, I dashed across. My friend stayed put until the light turned green, then ambled over to join me.
