Driving to Atlanta

I had direct experience of the scariness and Deliverance-style aspects of Georgia on the way back from the Atlanta gig, staying in a motel full of invisible truckers with a night-porter straight out of a Hitchcock movie, all hunched skinny shoulders, crocodile smile at inappropriate moments, Grecian 2000 black hair, extreeemly draaawn aaaaht Southern draaawl and an unhealthy passion for Leslie Organs (that's what I thought, too). 'Mah fayvoureet Leslay Organ is the Leslay Organ in mah Church'.
Never has a motel room door been bolted so tightly.
In the morning the invisible truckers had vanished, all but one huge feller with a massive top part of the body and teeny legs that scarcely touched the floor. He had a big white moustache and sideburns and sat scoffing his cereal with an enormous forearm resting on the table. A couple of generations ago he would have been a cowboy, with those little legs wedged into the stirrups and a lasoo in his megahands.
Never seen so many macho guys as I did in Georgia- would hate to be gay or gentle round those parts.