Later that day, I dropped by my brother's place. We enjoyed a beer, and
mostly chatted about our gardens. At one point, the conversation came around
to baldness. To be more specific, the worn out nature of my rear bicycle tire,
which I had ridden over there.
He recounted to me how he was always getting flats on his bike, and in
frustration, he went to a local bike shop, tire in hand, and asked for advice.
The proprietor immediately told him he needs a new tire, as it was so worn
that any piece of glass would penetrate it. Problem solved.
But this story is not about bikes, or even gardens. During the course of
my brother's tale, he mentioned the name of the bike shop, and that it's
located on Main Street.
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