Displaced Native Robert Sheridan bobsheridan firstname.lastname@example.org
If I can rely on memory, always a risk, Jack's is where my father would go, with me in tow, to get the tires retreaded. This was still shortly after the war when that's what you did with the worn-outs, got them retreaded. Re-treads is what they were called. Big hi-pressure machine that added a whole new layer of rubber on top of the old, but still good, sometimes, casing. Came out of the machine with a burst of air pressure and steam and looking brand new, except for the casing, which still looked old, 'cuz it wuz.
But they worked, the old retreads, for a lotta miles, unless you got a bad one and they started unraveling.
Haven't seen any tire retreads in a long time. Haven't even heard of them anymore.
Calling someone a retread isn't a compliment.
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