Anyone who's met Snap at Shutter Bug Camera Shop, located off the lobby at Loveless Motel, will admit to being bafflingly befuddled, blissfully beguiled and besottedly bewitched by this man who can be just as easily annoying as hell. To say he is immersed in his profession would be akin to announcing that one has just discovered the pairing of ketchup and French fries, that the ocean from outer space is blue, or that water is wet. Fanaticism and Snap are old friends. Conversationally, he's apt to speak in virtual grunts on some days, while on others, he might hold forth as if he were a gushing salutatorian who has just been ogled and cruised by Oscar Wilde himself who's seated in the front row at an Eton graduation. Some say the difference might be attributed to the chemicals he uses in the development of film; not that generally those would affect the casual hobbyist, but the extent to which Snap uses them is just short of using hydroquinone as your coffee creamer or phenidone on your breakfast cereal. He often complains of headaches, and talks to himself.
If you receive an invitation to visit him at home, you'll enter a world of seeming chaos, but like all mad men, there is an order, invisible to you, which sets in motion every device by which he can function, without your permission or assistance. Just, for God's sake, don't open any boxes or look in the kitchen. He is, in fact, a whiz at organization, but by methods which may seem strange to mere mortals. Ask him for a photograph he took five years ago of you with your leg propped up on a sheet covered box, holding a piece of rope; you could blindfold him and, plunging his hand into a certain pile of photos in this room or that, he would produce it in an instant. But then, he has a pile of pictures of men in just that pose, and the trick is he knows exactly how far down in the pile your picture is.
He can please any taste and discuss any sexual proclivity with expertise - he builds into his pricing the cost of developing an extra set of photos he finds particularly hot, for his own prurient interests, and finds pleasure in sharing them with visiting guests. He says all photographers are voyeurs, and so are all collectors of smutty photographs, especially those of the male form. In his private digs over at Aluminum City, he's known to be the host of some pretty spectacular evenings of men interested in circle jerks, and regulars on the Loveless Motel party line recognize his seductive voice, whether uttering a chemically induced grunt, or describing in vivid, orgasm-inducing detail a photography session he once had with a triple-testicled circus contortionist.
He's an outdoor enthusiast as well, and the influx of men seen at Nutbush Campground has provided him with new professional opportunities as well as some messy interludes with staff and guests found wandering the acres of trails and backroads of that fun new fuck forest.
