Part 1 of our 3-part layover in Augusta, Georgia, circa the summer of 1986: a time before cell phones and the internet, when ancient myths still commanded a tenuous alliance with the modern age.

And there is no more modern man, by 1986 standards, than your fellow passenger, that skinny, older man seated across the aisle.  His name is Amos Perl, and you shouldn’t blame him for looking a bit furtive.  He’s been videotaping things that no mortal eye was meant to see.  Unfortunately, unlike videotapes, there is no rewind on human memory.  And the late fees can only be paid in blood, at the eternal night-drop... of the Gray Line.

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