Southern-fried rock and roll of all different colors and flavors.
It was a crispy July morning in Winston Salem. I was at the car show, soaking in the sun, as the candy paint reflections of hot rods and choppers cooked my skin from all angles, like the Smoke Out did the weekend before. To my delight, no one mentions the heat. Conversations are hush, and attendees quietly reflect on the shrine of chrome and steel before them. The cars and bikes are louder and wilder than any one person in attendance.
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