Most photographers embraced digital, but Lobo stuck with his darkroom. I asked him why.
“Your best images are when you can sense your own mortality,” he explained. “Others … put themselves in danger to take that special photo. I’m … more hardy.” Everyone knew Lobo was a werewolf.
“But this stuff.” He casually swirled a stoppered vial of silver nitrate solution. “This can kill me. For me, the danger is in the developing, not the taking.”
They were good photos.
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