Moment: Fred Zafran
By Fred Zafran
I live in a small town in Virginia, on the rural edge of the metropolis. Often, as night falls, I will leave my home and wander in the evening’s indigo darkness. Paynes Biker Bar has been a fixture downtown for a quarter of a century, just across the street from the County Courthouse. Now called the “Downtown Saloon,” Paynes is still frequented by riders from throughout the region.
On one such evening, as I walked through town, I noticed a solitary figure. He stood outside of Paynes, exceedingly tall, slender, pensive, in a glowing white shirt. He paced quietly in the doorway, something clearly on his mind. From across the street, I watched him sit, away from the raucous crowd inside, and as he entered his silence, I made this image.
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