I love that tire store. I walked in the glass door, which is plastered in decals for every kind of tire thing, and breathed in the smell of rubber, dirt, old coffee, and the heat of power tools. Every wall is covered with something, mostly pictures. One wall: family - children with snowmen, with hats that say "Tire Store" on them, with baseball bats. Another wall: planes. Another, posters on tire wear. The panelled center beam is decorated with racing flags with the name of a tire manufacturer on them. Surrounding the coffee table are rows of tires with different treads, each one numbered with a little plastic tent sign. The wall behind the counter boasts a thin strip of wood with many hooks on it, apparently for keys. There are displays of tire pressure gauges and power tool accessories attached to that wall, and round pictures of tires step up a post.
The more I looked the more I saw. I didn't have my notebook with me so I had to hold it all inside. It's such a treasure of a place.
