Disclaimer: The ratio of my short life to the volume of drugs I have ingested has rendered my memory a bit unreliable. I swear the following is true but if anyone out there can corroborate or disprove the story please do.
Birmingham is a pretty staid southern town. Southern minds and christian churches. A few college students trying to move beyond the redneck past they inherited with little success until they move away. The only part of town (except for a truly fantastic library) that even tries to show some culture and intelligence is Five Points. It's a country fried bohemian area where the few freaks come out to play. It was here that I saw what was quite possibly the scariest fundamentalist christian in the world.
Picture a biker, tall, hairy, leather clad and kinda mean looking, sitting on a classic Harley Davidson. The leather was a white jumpsuit, he probably raided Elvis's closet. On the back of his jumpsuit is Jesus, in living color, smiling at everyone on the road behind him. A bible in one hand and a preachers voice under his tounge he apparently was sent to help save the souls of men. He would preach on street corners and in front of restaurants with patio's.
Loud and sure he would talk of sin and redemption, of God's love for his children and the wrath that awaited those who would mock and debase the faith that God required. Like something out of a tent revival this man roamed around to spread the word of God with the rumbling exhaust of a panhead Harley.
I still question whether he exists, and I don't agree with his message but I do love a world where people like this can roam free to scare children and old ladies.