Fence

It was hard to classify Atlanta's "Fence People," that's for sure. Spending hours of every day, perched on a wooden fence, screaming at cowpokes and ranch hands, that was their business. Name calling? Yep. Harassment of rodeo clowns? Yep. Bottles of Jack in paper bags, carefully guarded from the marshal? Roger that. But when the time came to fetch their loot in Texarkana, well - you best bet the whole posse would round up a fleet of trucks and bring back that Coors Light with a giant whoop! of celebration. Yee haw!