#White Sidewall Tires

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1961 Plymouth Fury convertible

The Plymouth Fury was an automobile made by the Plymouth division of the Chrysler Corporation from 1956 to 1978. Introduced as a premium-priced halo model (a production automobile designed to showcase the talents and resources of an automotive company, with the intent to draw consumers into their showrooms), the Fury was sold only as an off-white hardtop coupe with gold anodized aluminum trim in 1956, 1957 and 1958. A Fury convertible was first offered in 1960.

In 1959 Plymouth introduced the Sport Fury as its top model, and the Fury name was stepped down to replace the Plymouth Belvedere at the top of the regular Plymouth line-up. In doing so, the Fury range now contained sedans and station wagons as well as a hardtop coupe and sedan, while the Sport Fury series had only a 2-door hardtop and convertible. The Fury remained Plymouth’s sales volume model through the troubled early 1960s, when the full-sized Fury was saddled with odd styling and an intermediate (or mid-sized) platform.

The Sport Fury was dropped at the end of 1959, but was reintroduced in mid-1962. The 1962 to 1969 Sport Fury came as a hardtop coupe or convertible.

From 1965 to 1974, Plymouth sales owed a great deal to the Fury’s popularity. When Plymouth reintroduced a full-sized car in 1965, the Fury was available in four trim levels, dubbed Fury I, Fury II, Fury III and Sport Fury, which were priced to meet Chevrolet’s Biscayne, Bel Air, Impala and Impala SS models, body style for body style.

The Fury I was marketed to police and taxi fleets, or sold to private customers wanting a basic, no-frills full-sized car, while the Fury II and Fury III were the bread and butter lines. Many Sport Fury models (as well as Fury III models) came loaded with options such as automatic transmission, power steering, white sidewall tires (along with full wheel covers), stereo radios, vinyl tops and air conditioning.

[bucket-of-f1]

TIRE COMPOUND YAP

Alright gang, it’s time y'all knew about the chaos that was (and is) Formula One tire shenanigans.

But first, some technical details (aren’t you just so excited):

In Formula One, the cars all have wheels (oooh) Attached to the wheels are tires (aaah). The tires are made of rubber, but because it’s F1, this ain’t your normal black circle that us peasants slap on our piddly little Peugeot. Nah, these things are insane.

They’re made from a combination of natural rubber and a mix or multiple synthetic rubbers of various names that I cannot pronounce without using at least 98% of my Latin root knowledge (i.e. styrene-butadiene copolymer, polybutadiene, and bromobutyl).

They’re then constructed into the actual tire, which has the three main components that you see in any tire (if I remember my high school auto shop notes correctly, don’t worry I’ll double check this before I post it):

Bead

Sidewall

Contact Patch

Here’s a diagram (of a normal tire) I edited to show these. The “tread” section is where the contact patch would be.

The bead is where the tire meets the wheel itself. Very thick, pretty inflexible compared to the rest of the tire, and has steel bands embedded to keep it strong and in-place. There’s also molded/carved ridges to grab on to the wheel (remember, a wheel is the metal bit that the tire is connected to). This acts as a sort of tire for the tire, gripping on and making sure that the tire doesn’t slip off its mount.

The sidewall is a LOT thinner, and very flexible. All rubber, made to be the part that shifts and flexes under load, which these cars experience a lot of (we’ll get to that in a sec).

Last, the contact patch. The most important part (arguably). Made of rubber and steel bands throughout, this is the part that’s actually in contact with the tarmac, as the name suggests. It has to be strong — the kind of strong that survives bouncing over kerbs at 100+ miles an hour, the kind of strong that can do miles and miles of constant strain, rolling at 215 MPH down straights and slowing to 60, 30, in the span of a hundred meters. Or, more strenuous, taking the faster turns. If you try taking any form of curve at 140, 160 MPH like these guys do, you’ll get to watch your tire explode under the pressure (shortly before you wrap yourself around a tree or telephone pole and take out my power again).

Now this is cool and all, but I can hear it already: “Bucket, what about the actual tire compounds? You know, the only part of this we’ll ever actually need to know while watching F1?” And to that, I respond: “Oh god I’m so sorry that’s what I meant to be talking about this whole time and then I got carried away sorry sorry sorry.”

So tire compounds:

When you’re watching F1, you’ll notice that the tires are color coded. You can see it off to the side of the driver’s name in the race order, and you’ll hear it called out.

There’s five basic types, but I’ll get into the nuance after the overview (image of tires for reference below).

Slicks:

Softs (red)

Mediums (yellow, sorry there’s no yellow color)

Hards (white)

Soft tires are marked with a red ring. They are, literally, softer than the other tires. The way it works is this: the softer the tire, the more it sinks into the ground. Softs spread out more, making a larger contact patch. More tire in contact with the road = more traction. Think about it like dragging your hand down a window: soft tires are like putting your entire palm and all five fingers flat against the window, then dragging down. A lot more resistance, because you’ve got more of your hand gaining traction against the window. More contact/traction means slowing and turning faster, and it heats the tire up faster (which allows for even more traction, because a hot tire sinks/sticks to the ground better than a cold one). The downside to softs is that they degrade faster, wearing out to have less traction and a higher chance of blowing out. They may be the fastest tire to slap on that car, but you’ll only get 20-30 laps out of them.

Hard tires are the opposite of softs, marked with a white ring. They last a really long time, like they’ll go almost the whole race length without blowing out. Their downside is that they take much longer to heat up, and even once they do they’ll always provide less traction than soft. It’s like putting a finger or two on the window and dragging down.

Mediums are smack in the middle, marked with a yellow ring. Lasts longer than a soft, more traction than a hard, but not a specialist at really anything. Imagine four to five fingers, but no palm.

Grooved:

Intermediates/inters (green)

Wets (blue)

Intermediates and Wets (green and blue rings, respectively) do the same job to different degrees. They’re both a build for wet weather, but Intermediates are for when it’s not AS wet as you need a Wet tire. Basically: Inters are for a a drying track and maybe some drizzling rain, when slicks aren’t good but Wets are too slow. Wets are for when it’s anything more than that. These tires are quite soft, but they’re also grooved, like civilian tires.

Current F1 uses these five compounds, but what most people don’t know is that compounds also have sub-compounds that Pirelli, the manufacturer, decides on a per-race basis. They range from C1-C5, with 1 being the hardest most durable and C5 being the softest and fastest. Pirelli decides what C-rating range will be available to teams on the weekend: for example, tracks that put more stress of the tires, like high speed circuits and circuits with high temperatures, call for lower rankings, C1-C3. Circuits with less stress, or circuits that may require higher grip, are C3-C5. Softs can be C3-C5 (usually C5), Hards can be C1 and C3/4, and Mediums are C2-C4 (pulled all this info from Pirelli’s site so it better be right).

You can actually see the compounds listed during pre-season testing:

So yeah, that’s how it works, in way more words than you ever wanted. If you made it this far, I congratulate you. Pat yourself on the back. Go get some water. You now know how F1 tires work!

But it wasn’t always this way (history dump incoming).

Y’see, at one point, there were less restrictions. And then there were more for a while. And then less. Because F1 is always changing.

In the 50s and 60s, five companies (Dunlop, Englebert, Firestone, Continental and Goodyear) made tires. In the 60s, Dunlop had the genius idea to make the tires wider for more grip. Like, MUCH wider.

In ‘71, Firestone upped the game by introducing the first true iteration of slick tires in official Formula One racing, at the Spanish Grand Prix. From the early 80s onward, the FIA started having some fun messing with how big the tires could be, prompting companies to learn to make and optimize different sizes.

Coming out of the 1996 season, Goodyear was the only manufacturer for tires. Then, at the beginning of the ‘97 season, Bridgestone joined. [insert Spider-Verse prowler sound effect]

This sparked the first major tire war of modern F1. I guess Bridgestone won, because Goodyear pulled out for the 1998 season.

Also in 1998, hoping to reduce car speeds, the FIA required all tires to be grooved, like modern Inters. This lasted until 2008, where all tires had to have four grooves running down the center (with the exception of 1998, which had three grooves).

Bridgestone had a good run of about two years, but in 2001, Michelin joined the fray. Then, in 2005, the FlA had the genius idea of banning tire changes mid-race.

And sweet baby Jesus did this combo eventually result in one of the funniest and most boring races of all time. I'll write about that another time, but l'll tell you this: Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

If you know, you know.

Unsurprisingly, largely as a result of that race, in 2006 they reinstated tire swaps.

in 2007, Michelin pulled out, leaving Bridgestone again the sole provider. There was some fun color coding issues and solutions as rules shifted, but nothing wildly interesting other than some confusion in the first race of a season where people weren't exactly sure how hard of a compound they were using.

2009 saw a shift back to slick tires and changes in aerodynamics to encourage mechanical grip (i.e. things like the tires giving grip as opposed to the wings pushing the car down for traction).

After 2010, Bridgestone left, and the power vacuum was filled by Pirelli, who's held it since then. So far, their 2011-current run has only had a few notable moments, the biggest being the 2018 season. They introduced two extra compounds on either end of the spectrum: pink hypersofts and orange superhards.

These were dropped in 2019 in favor of our current system, to make it easier both on teams and fans to understand and work with.

So... yeah! Tires :3

As always, feel free to pepper me with asks about F1. I do love answering them. This blog is a light in my life that really helps sometimes.

Love y’all.

[vividracing]

New Post has been published on https://www.vividracing.com/blog/build-a-jeep-wrangler-tj-off-road-rig-for-under-4000/

Build A Jeep Wrangler TJ Off-Road Rig For Under $4,000!!

Jeeps are well known to be highly capable of anything the owners want to do! A drivable jigsaw puzzle that can weather any condition and stands the test of time. Most people don’t get to appreciate the iconic silhouette and feel of a Jeep. But if you are a Jeep enthusiast – you understand.

The 2006 Jeep Wrangler TJ was one of the most sought-after cars hitting the market. Being able to make it an overland build or something that can crawl up and down rock interfaces. Whatever you wanted to do – Jeep could handle it—making it a staple in the off-road market. Mods started to gain traction as people began to realize what Jeep was made out of. Grit. And fun.

Today we are building a Jeep Wrangler TJ for just under $4,000! You can find all the mods below with some details. And if you like it – click that shop now button and have the time of your life with a new mod for your rig!

KMC KM728 Lobo Wheels = $285 each

Key Features of these wheels: 

Simple performance

One-piece cast wheel

Retro five-spoke design

Classic step lip profile

Pro Cap V2 with metal base and removable logo

KMC logo engraved into lip

4 Finishes: Matte Black, Matte Gunmetal, Gloss White, and Metallic Blue

5 & 6 lug applications

18mm Offset

Toyo Open Country R/T Trail Tires = $500 each 

Key features of these tires: 

Large tread blocks and a pitch pattern

Improves wet braking and handling

Reduced irregular wear and noise

Extra-thick sidewall

Wide lateral zigzag grooves to avoid stones and rocks getting stuck

Multi-directional protectors

Tuff Country 4″ Lift Kit EZ-Ride = $975

Key features of this lift kit:

Wrangler EZ-Ride coil springs

Transfer case drop included

Extended lower control arms for better alignment

Allows use of 33 inch x 12.5 inch tires

Made in the USA

Body Armor 4×4 Front Winch Bumper = $500

Key features of this bumper: 

D-ring Mounts

Skid plate included

Reinforced bumper wings for added strength

Black textured powder coated

It comes with shackle mount

4 light mounting points

Material: Steel

Body Armor 4×4 Rockcrawler Side Steps = $300 

Key features of these side steps: 

Add protection for wheel well to wheel well protection

No-drill chassis mount installation

2×3 tube combined with kick-out rail

Black powder coat finish

Material: steel

Grand total = $3,940 

*We are not responsible for the mega amounts of fun you are about to have in your Jeep Wrangler TJ

Check out all these products on our website and tag us #vividracing of your build!

[rich4you]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 1948 Print Ad Yellow Oldsmobile Futuramic Sedan Car with White Sidewall Tires.

[scottnelson21223]

When To Replace Road Bike Tires? 7 Signs To Check For

When to replace road bike tires? You can only answer this question after learning about signs displayed on your bike when it needs new tires. 

This article will show you the most common indicators for the replacement. You can also discover tips to replace road bike tires on your own.

Let's jump into the details! 

When To Replace Road Bike Tires? 

When you notice any sign of damage or degradation in the road bike tire, try to replace it as soon as possible. The tread, sidewalls, rubber surface, and casing are the first parts that give you indications. 

Worn-Out Tread

Tread refers to the section of the bike tire that contacts the ground while riding. It's a thick rubber protective layer with patterns. The more you ride, the faster the tread wears down. 

If you notice a worn-out tread on your bike tire, replace it. Otherwise, all surfaces will become slippery for the bike. 

Bulges On Sidewalls

A bike tire has multiple rubber layers. If they start to separate from each other, there will be bubbles or bulges on the tire. It indicates that it has lost its patterns and structure. 

You will encounter a disaster if you don't replace your tire soon. The already-separated rubber layers may continue to split, and the tire as a whole may collapse.

1. Sidewalls may suffer from excessive use

Cracked Rubber

You may start to see rubber fractures in an old bike tire. They usually appear on the edges of the tread patterns or knobs.

This sign indicates that the rubber is degrading and getting weaker. If you keep riding on it, the cracks will worsen, and the tire might blow out.

Constant Flats 

If you keep having flat tires, something may be wrong with your tire setup. There must be some problems with the sidewalls or inner tubes. Another possible case is a sharp object trapped between the inner tubes and the tire. 

If all the situations above don't happen, it must be the tire itself for the cause. You should consider replacing it now. 

How to fix a flat bike tire on the road?

2. Constant flats are signs to replace the tire 

Holes And Cuts 

If the holes or cuts on your road bike tire are tiny, you can fix them with patches. 

For tubeless tires, use tubeless tire sealant products. They work well to seal around the punctures and nails. 

However, if you notice large cuts or holes, there won't be anything you can do for your bike tire except for replacing it.  

Worn-Out Casing 

The nylon threads (TPI) that strengthen and shape the case may wear down. Before injuring yourself, discard the tire if you notice any white fibers.  

How To Replace Road Bike Tires? 

After identifying the case, replacing your road bike tire is a must. But how can you do it? The instructions are as follows:

Step 1: Remove The Wheel

If you want to replace the front wheel, first disconnect the brakes before finding the quick-release lever for immediate removal.

If you work with the rear wheel, set the gears up to the smallest ring. Then, find the brakes and quick-release lever. 

Step 2: Deflate The Old Tires

Deflating the tire will help you push the tire closer to its rim and move it up to the center of the wheel.  

Step 3: Remove The Tire From Its Wheel

Separate the rim and the tire using a tire lever. You can attach the hooked end of the lever to the tire's edge. Then, pull the lever over the rim. 

Next, slide the tire rube out of the tire. This step will be easier if you push the air valve through the frame of the wheel and remove it.

Inflate the new tube slightly. It will get into shape and shouldn't be fully inflated. 

After that, let it slide into the tire. Make sure that the valve of the tube and the valve hole of the rim get in line. 

Next, use a tire lever to push the remaining tire over the rim's edge. After setting the tire onto the rim, install the wheel to your road bike. 

Finally, give it a bump and check if your new tire can work properly.

3. Replace the tire and be ready to conquer the road 

Conclusion 

You can tell if your road bike tires need replacement by checking their condition. The tread, rubber, casing, or hole and cuts on them are easily noticeable.

Once you find them, replace the tires as soon as possible. Otherwise, you will get into trouble. 

Hopefully, you will find this guide helpful. Please comment in the section below if you need more information about road bike tires. We will get back to you soon.

Thank you for reading!

Article Source: https://www.campfireusa.org/when-to-replace-road-bike-tires

[americanomni]

Classic 787 Tire by Vercelli Tire

The CLASSIC 787 is a traditional all-season white sidewall design featuring slotted shoulders and a wear-resistant tread compound for trouble-free mileage and a quiet ride. The wide, longitudinal grooves provide good handling on both wet and dry surfaces while the flexible body design improves ride comfort. Backed by our No Questions Asked, 25/365 Free Replacement Limited Protection Policy.

Check out the sizes here.

[thewinshitters]

Beautiful Spouse Watches The Winchesters S01x09

Cast Your Fate to the Wind

Spouse is watching the Stream today! 

“Why does it look like shit?????” “I shouldn’t have looked at the description, because I know that they’re vampires and just sleeping” “Vampires aren’t cold, are they?” “sure” “Why would you wear a dress? A leather skirt? Why not just wear pants? Less shit to get caught on” “oh yeah we don’t care about money. We leave that to Guillermo” “This is what I mean - in spn, they had all these gritty voices. The tone is different, and I think it’s lacking. It’s lacking that gritty ass tone” “I hope they do spice it up a little bit” “not a bad looking one either ahahaha” “I think they really need to turn up the grit on the voices. Get the mic in a little closer. Boost up the low end. Add some distortion. Just a little bit.” “Even Dean doesn’t have that same gritty voice anymore” “is it the samulet?? Probably” “it’s almost like they chopped off most things below 300 Hertz” “I thought Carlos’s scarf was a tie” 🎶clubhouse cat gotta be black🎶 

“Or white or orange. Any cat would do” “it saw you” “you kill yourself bitch’ “Is the PreP commercial how we know they’re gearing this show to the gays? At least it triggers all the homophobes” “Just send him off to war - it’ll fix him” “The sidewall on the tires on the rack are awfully thin for 1970s something” “See what I mean? There’s a little grit missing in the voice” “fuck yeah boiii” “that could have been a really funny joke” “I gotta get some Carlos pants. God damn” “Where do you even find pants like that anymore?” “idk if those particular borderlines were established when vampires appeared but ok” 🎶gonna chop off their heads and shit down their necks🎶

“Thanks for telling me! Now I can go destroy it!”

“Don’t be such a cop. Jesus Christ” “She’s just jealous of the new girlfriend” “what’s up with the map paper?” “Do you believe everything that you’re told?” “ya know if they’re going with an alternate universe, they didn’t have to cast someone who looked like the originals” “the pacing is getting better. The voices bother me. I hope they work on them a bit” “and the camera angle specifically is bothering me. If you think in spn, they would have been mostly on the receiving party side. They flip back and forth too many times” “or you could have just both been running. You wasted 8 seconds.” “Oh yeah wood doors. That’ll work” “There’s more light in that room than there is from the lighter.” “This is what I mean by the color grading and the lighting” “what the fuck do we need the slo mo with the hair? We haven’t had any more interesting camera work than this whole episode” “ok that was fkn great and all, but why not tie it up in a hair tie for better directional aiming” “the music choice feels deliberate. It feels cheesy to me” “oh my god” “that’s not how that works but ok” “juicy” “we already know what happens. Dead mans blood blah blah blah” “why can’t John grab it” “Man you’re supposed to lock your elbows, but they fuck this up all the time. I know they don’t want to crack the ribs but use a mannequin or something”

“cough cough. Oh same difference” “yeah sure this all makes sense” “tempted about what?” “out of the bag and into the box” “he’s a robot person. Or an ant person. Or whatever the fuck. Creepy spider things”

[markonpark]

1949 Ford parked in the street. 

Set of 2 vintage snapshot photos of an old car

https://etsy.me/2MdtjhL

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

White Sidewall Tires

[starshades-grace]

Read on AO3

----------------------------------------------------------

Way More Than That

"Tony?"

Steve's drained voice echoed in the hallway of the workshop which was in the midst of being remodelled, following the events of Ultron. He sighed at the lack of response and allowed himself to lean against the sidewall and close his eyes momentarily, feeling extremely worn out. God, he was so tired. Maybe it was the post-battle rush fading away as the weight of their actions fell upon him, or just the fact that the silence in the tower echoed the emptiness in his heart. It was understandable -- the rest of the team moving in the new facility, it made sense. They would still, more often than not, be at the tower to visit and Steve was pretty sure atleast one of them would be staying over all the time. It was okay.

And yet, he resented the change. Fuck, so many things had changed. Ultron. Wanda. Pietro. Sokovia. He let out a gasping shuddering breath, remembring the floating city falling down to its demise. He remembered how he had almost accepted it -- looking at that beautiful of a view was certainly not that bad of a way to die; he could think of worse scenarios. But it seemed that for the first time in forever, he didn't want to die in a mission. The fact that it scared him seemed so foreign. No. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live. Things had been going so good - they had Peter now, he had a son. He wanted to be there for him to grow up and be there for his first dance and send off to college as he would hug a misty-eyed Tony who would probably be way too emotional for his own good --

Tony.

He pushed himself from the wall and moved into the lab, the aforementioned lack of response worrying him. It seemed like that's all he was doing nowadays. Worrying about Tony. How could he not? Things had been so rocky between them lately and they hadn't had any chance to talk it out, not as Captain America and Iron Man but as Tony and Steve.

It hurt even more cause he knew Tony was avoiding him.

Granted, it just had been a couple of weeks since Sokovia and they were still in being-the-world's-mightiest-heroes- mode. Dealing with Goverments, dealing with post-war damage, dealing with press. He had to only issue a statement as to what went down in Sokovia but it was Tony who was constantly running around, taking  all the hits for them as Fury had said "you are the public figure, you built something, you deal with it." (Steve wasn't the one to punch Directors but honest to God, he really came close with that one.) Throughout all this, whenever Steve would try to hold a conversation with Tony, to touch him, to hold him; there was always some late meeting that Tony had to run to and when he couldn't get away with excuses, he would freeze up and just stare as if comprehending what Steve was gonna do.

And it sure as fuck hurt a hell lot knowing Tony didn't trust himself with Steve.

The familiar smell of metal and alcohol hit him and he scrunched his nose in anticipation because it was so clear. Tony had broken his streak. He ignored the heavy feeling in his chest beneath his white tee as he looked around the messy lab. His gaze settled onto the mass bending down on one end of the couch and his eyes softened. Tony was fumbling with some wires but Steve knew that it wasn't something that needed attending to. Through the years they had been together, Steve had been captivated by the way Tony treated his tech. Sometimes when Tony would be working, Steve would just observe him and would chastize himself for ever thinking that Tony was like Howard.

Howard always treated his tech as its master; demanding and dominating. Tony, on the other hand, for him was always so gentle, always so precious. The genius's mind was always working and Steve was sure Tony could turn anything into an impressive device. His tech from his knowledge, if anything, was never beneath him.

Steve approached him carefully, wary not to startle the man unnecessarily and stopped in front of him. "Tones."

The genius's hands continued to fumble absentmindedly with the mess of wires and Steve's heart dropped at the unacknowledgement. Something was wrong. So wrong.

"Honey," He continued gently, crouching beside him, "Tony." And yet, the brunette didn't look at him. Instead, Steve's eyes fell down at how terribly his arms were shaking and oh god, when was the last time he saw Tony eat something? "Hey, hey, love, look-" He heard Tony inhale sharply, still focused on the irrelevant project in his hands and his heart clenched. He held his husband's face between his hands, gently forcing Tony's gaze at him. "Sweetheart, look at me."

Steve stopped breathing for a moment.

Because fuck, fuck, Tony looked so-- so broken. His face had lost all of its usual charm, looking thin and malnourished. His hair were messed up and Steve could almost imagine the way the genius must have pulled at his repeatedly. The white of his brown eyes was tainted with red and the lack of sleep was so apparent that Steve's chest tightened with worry.

"Steve," Tony started out in surprise, almost as if he was only now aware of his arrival, "You are here."

He took a deep breath, holding Tony's shaking hands between his as he stated, his voice firm and gentle, "I am here."

"You are--You are here. With me."

Steve had to literally restrain himself from not pushing Tony against his chest and never let him go because the way Tony said it made Steve think that his husband believed that the blond would never return. "I told you I would be back in a couple of days, didn't I?" He managed to say, holding the shorter man up by his elbows as they stumbled to stand on their feet. "I just had some work to do at the new facility. And now I am back here. With you."

"Steve, Steve, Stevie," A lazy grin painted across his face and Steve tried to ignore the way Tony was slurring on his words as the genius pushed his face in Steve's chest. "I missed you."

Steve felt the familiar tug of tension in his throat. He knew an upcoming breakdown when he saw one. And the way Tony was basically clinging to his body, almost as if begging for some form of contact made the wave of guilt crash in full force because Steve couldn't even remember the last time he had told Tony that he loved him. He allowed himself to say, wrapping his arms around the smaller man, "I missed you too, love."

He felt the familiar brush of lips against his jaw and fuck, apparently Steve couldn't remember anything because he also didn't know when was the last time that they kissed. Tony spoke up, murmuring against Steve's chest, "You- you are back. And we are here. And--and where's Peter? Where's my boy, Steve? I need my boy."

Steve's heart clenched. "He's at Laura and Clint's, remember? We thought it would be a good idea to have him there till stuff got sorted out." Tony backed up from his chest, frowning as if he didn't remember talking to Steve about it. Then, he stumbled which made Steve curse as he leaned forward to hold him, "Jesus-- Tony, how much did you drink?"

"I-I don't know," Tony mumbled, letting out a weak chuckle as he allowed Steve to lead them out the workshop, "Lost count. JARVIS would know. J? J, how much did I--"

He stopped short and Steve hated how Tony went still in his arms, the bitter reminder washing upon them again and again. His husband's eyes were spaced out and Steve inhaled a sharp breath before murmuring out, "FRIDAY?"

"Boss had eleven glasses of scotch, two bottles of beer and four cigarettes."

He expected Tony to say something-- a snarky remark about how FRIDAY was betraying him by ratting him out or an unnecessary flirty comment about how Steve was worrying about him. But he stayed silent in his arms as Steve led them towards their bedroom.

"Tony," He couldn't help the annoyance that brushed off in his tone, "You know you have a heart condition, right? Do you want your liver to fail?"

The silence stretched and Steve regretted the words that had left his mouth as Tony dipped his head down, not willing to meet his eyes. He opened his mouth to apologize but Tony said, his voice so quiet that Steve almost didn't hear it, "I kinda wish it would."

Steve let out a shuddering breath at the confession and he felt the familiar sting of tears in his eyes because how the fuck did they get here? Him barely holding himself together as he led a drunk off his ass Tony who just indirectly admitted he wanted to off himself. How did they get here?

"You don't mean that," He whispered quietly against his lover's forehead, pressing a light kiss and chose to ignore the way Tony flinched cause no, Steve was not going to cry. Not right now. They were going to be okay. He kept reminding himself. They had no other choice. They were going to be fine.

"Captain, might I add, Boss has also not eaten anything in the past thirty-seven hours and has not slept since last four days despite my constant reminders."

The door to their bedroom slid open gently and Steve entered, a tense and stumbling Tony leaning against him as the super soldier held his weight up. Their bed looked like it hadn't been slept in for days-- infact, the whole room looked untouched. Steve hated how there was no familiar scent of Tony's cologne in the room or how his own clothes weren't thrown across that chair in the corner. It seemed... foreign. It didn't feel home.

He ignored the unsettling feeling as he lowered Tony down, the corner of the bed dipping with their weight. The brunette laid across at once, the exhaustion visible in his fatigue form while Steve took off his watch, placing it gently on their bedside table. His eyes settled onto their wedding photo that resided there -- Tony in a grey suit standing on his tip toes to meet Steve's lips halfway, who funnily enough had a small pink flower held behind his right ear. It was one of the best moments of his life.

Because for that moment, everything made sense and nothing seemed like it had been in vain. For that moment of utter happiness and bliss and peace, the fact that he had spent seventy years in ice or that he had once lost everybody he loved or that he woke up to see that the world still needed saving-- everything seemed like it was worth it. Tony was worth all of it. He always would be.

He gazed down at his husband whose small figure was folded onto itself against the white sheets, his eyes still spaced out as the brown orbs stared at the far right corner of the room. Steve sighed, gently running his fingers across his scalp before he bent down to press a kiss and murmured, "I will be back in a minute."

Tony's eyes flickered to his and his mouth twisted into a displeased frown. "Where are you going?"

"Well, someone has to feed you, right?" Steve managed to pass a small smile before standing up from the edge of the bed, "Sandwich sounds okay?"

The familiar grasp at his left wrist tugged him down, preventing him from getting up as he turned his head back in confusion at the intervention. Tony was balancing his weight on one elbow, his other one holding Steve's wrist. His hair fell back, messed up against the motion as he sat there, biting his lower lip, his eyes still not focusing on Steve. Eyes that were full off uncertainty and hesitance.

His voice came out small, "Stay."

Steve faltered. "I am not going anywhere, honey. You haven't eaten anything and I can't let you go to sleep drunk on an empty stomach."

His husband visibly deflated, his hand falling dead weight against the linen sheets. He clenched his eyes shut, the pain visible as his face contorted into a frown. It reminded him of those days. The days early in their relationship-- when they pretended they were just friends but not quite-- when Steve wasn't aware of Tony's trauma and there were walls he could never get past through. It took him time to learn certain things - why Tony hated going swimming in pools or why sometimes a bombing in a movie would make him have a panic attack. Afghanistan was the answer to a lot of things, he assumed but there were so many that he yet didn't understand about the man he was falling in love with. The audible quavering sigh that escaped Tony's lips made Steve's chest seize in panic. The way Tony was clinging onto him wasn't his usual cute way -- when Steve would have to unwrap a koala Tony from his arms with ten different versions of "I will be back before you know it", "Tony, for God's sake, get off me" or "You are really cute and I love you but you are being so annoying". No. This wasn't that. This was a sad Tony clinging onto Steve as if the world would end if he didn't.

This whole situation was so not Tony that it actually scared Steve.

"Tony," The fear seeped through the crack of his voice, "What's wrong?"

The engineer sat up halfway, his hands wrapped around his abdomen with his head rested against his knees. His jaw visibly clenched as his knuckles tightened around themselves. Steve visibly frowned, going to hold his hands because god, didn't Tony see he was hurting himself with the cuticles of his nails digging in his palms? But before he could, the genius turned away and Steve's heart dropped to his stomach. Tony had never seemed so small.

"Tony, wha--"

"I can talk to Pepper if you want."

His voice didn't come out slurred, didn't waver with the amount of pain he was clearly feeling. Instead, it was stable, a scary calm as if he had practiced this a hundred times. Steve blinked in confusion. "What?"

Tony's eyes finally snapped up to his blue ones and for the first time since he had gotten together with Tony, Steve couldn't read what the genius was feeling. They both had a habit of lashing out, being stubborn, getting closed off but never it had been the vague indifference that was swimming in his husband's right now. Steve carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, urging Tony to continue who let out a small insecure shrug before continuing, "I mean, if you are hesitating or something. She could get the best lawyers and the media would be handled if that's what you are worr--"

"What are you talk--"

"But, well," He continued despite the interruption, the frantic movement of his hands giving away his dishevelled state of mind, "It's not like anybody would blame you for it. Fuck, even I get it. But-- but can I see Peter on the weekends? Like, I know it's too much to ask for and you have every right to say no. After all, you are getting the custody and-- don't worry, even if you don't, I will make sure you do. So, weekends? Like does that sound okay for you--"

"Tony," Steve cut him off, his blue eyes wide as his hands held a slight tremor as he got a sense of what Tony was proposing, "What on Earth are you talking about?"

The engineer pressed his lips into a thin line as their eyes met and there was nothing Steve wanted to do more than cross the distance between them and hold his husband cause Tony looked so defeated as he said, his voice quiet, "If you wanted to file for a divorce, I meant."

Steve felt the air knocked out of his lungs at the statement. Tony didn't stutter and it only made his assumption concrete that this was something that had been on the genius's mind for awhile. His tone sounded resigned as if the battle was already lost. Steve couldn't help but stutter, "Wha--? Why would I-- Tony, why would you even think that I wanted to divorce you?"

Tony kept fidgeting with the sleeves of his black tee, a clear sign of nervousness that was hid behind a wall of indifference as his voice came out empty, "I would get it. After everything-- Ultron, Sokovia, Pietro. I would get it if you wanted to--"

"Is that-- is that what this is about? Tony, I-- is that why you took off your wedding ring?" Steve had noticed the absence of the band as soon as he had held his husband's trembling hands back in the workshop. He had let it go back then, not wanting to look into situations that probably didn't make sense but now a sharp stinging pain claimed his throat as he considered the possibility that Tony thought Steve - Steve who was so irrevocably in love with him - wanted to divorce him. Was that it? Was he making Tony feel that unloved?

Tony nodded as a hollow chuckle left his chapped lips. "Almost-- almost took the dog tags off too. But couldn't-- I couldn't cause you gave them to-- to me after our first night and I just couldn't." He remembered that night. He cherished that night. People would assume that Tony  being Tony Stark would jump into the bed with his boyfriend the first moment he got but it was anything but that. Contrary to popular belief, in their relationship Tony had been the hesitant one when it came to that cause he knew. He knew the moment he let himself go completely in his most vulnerable state would be the moment when he would fall in love head over heels for the amazing blond tall man. So, when it finally happened, it was slow and lovable and peaceful. It made sense as something deep inside both of them clicked. The warm glow of the following morning had induced tears in Steve's eyes cause he had never felt so happy as he stared at the naked brunette man cuddled up next to him. His dog tags were placed against his lover's olive skin that day and had never came off since.

Steve inhaled a sharp breath, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. He had to be the strong one right now. "Tony," He said gently, "I would never--"

"I can't do this," Tony whispered, his voice breaking in the middle. His hitherto calm and controlled tone slowly descended into a messy string of words and Steve could see the familiar outlining of tears in his husband's eyes. The brunette shook his head in dismal, his shaking hands clutching on the tips of his hair. "I-- I can't. I though I could but I can't, Steve."

Tony abruptly stood on his knees, moving forward as he closed the distance between them and placed a kiss on Steve's lips. The shock at the sudden touch wore off as Steve allowed him to process the messy and urgent and desparate kiss. The genius placed his head in the crook of Steve's neck and god, the way his whole body was shaking made Steve feel like he was dying a million deaths every single minute. Tony's frantic voice came out muffled as he said, "Don't leave me. I am sorry. I am sorry. I know, I know if I was a good man I would let you and Pete go but- but I am not. You guys deserve so much better than me.  I am nothing but a selfish asshole and I can't live without you. I am sorry. I thought I could let you go but fuck, I can't. Please, don't leave me. Steve, I can't--"

"Tony." Steve choked out, his eyes burning with the sting of tears that threatened to fall. He felt the familiar damping of his shirt and the realisation struck him that Tony was crying. Steve's mind drifted back off to their first meeting when he had thought that Tony Stark just couldn't cry. He had never been so wrong about someone on the first meeting. He had seen Tony cry before -- whether it was a way too emotional Pixar movie or Peter's first day at school or another one of his terrible terrible nightmares. It was never easy.

"I am sorry, Steve. I am." He looked up at Steve, his movements frantic and desparate, "I am so sorry. I was just-- I was just trying to protect everyone. Ultron wasn't supposed to-- We are so screwed, Steve. There are things out there that we are not even ready for. I was just trying to protect you and Peter and everyone. You--" He shook his head, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, "You died in my arms, Steve. That's what I saw. You and Peter cause I wasn't doing enough. And I couldn't let that happen. I am not-- I am not evil, I swear. I just wanted to do one right thing and I fucked up cause that's what I do. That's what I have done all my fucking life--"

"Tony, honey, no--"

"You believe me, don't you? When I say that I am sorry. Cause I am, Steve," An unwilling sob left his lips and Steve's heart broke at the sight. "They all think I am this-- this monster. And I get it. People died because of me. Wanda was right. I don't know the difference between saving the world and destroying it. I didn't-- I never wanted to hurt anyone-- You believe me, right?"

He was-- oh god, he was begging. Steve's own tears left the brink of his eye because fuck, it hurt. It hurt so so bad to see the man he loved hate himself so much. "I believe you," He tightened his grip around his husband, pressing three frantic kisses across his forehead, "I know, Tony. I believe you. And they all do too, okay? The people still love you cause you saved so many lives--"

"That's cause they don't know I created Ultron," He snapped, struggling against Steve's assuring hold but in vain, "They just know it was a mistake involving alien tech and-- and they don't know. They hate me even though they don't know. Imagine them finding out-- you know what, tell them. That's what I deserve."

It had been a unanimous decision to not disclose to the public the actual story of how Ultron came into being. The story that was sold out was that the sceptre interacted itself with the AI present at the Stark Tower and Ultron was created. Tony hated the idea, it didn't make sense and more so, he hated hiding behind a cover up. But Fury was right. People were still hating on the Avengers, even though they didn't know the full story and if the truth got out, it would just be worse. The world needed the Avengers, irrespective of what PR stunt they had to hide behind.

"Listen to me," Steve's voice was stern as he held his husband's face between his hands, caressing his cheek with his thumb, "We fought together, Tony. Cause we are a team. So, we win together and if we lose, we do that together too. You are not the only one at fault. You didn't fuck up, we all did--"

"But-"

"Wanda messed with your head and let you take the sceptre because she knew. She planted the seed of fear and knew that it would drive you to depths. Bruce was the one who agreed to help you--"

"I forced him--"

"Is he not an adult? Mind I say an adult that can change into a raging green monster if he is forced to do something he doesn't want to?" He raised his eyebrown in anticipation silencing the man who just ducked his head, avoiding Steve's intense gaze. "And I should have known better too."

Tony's eyes snapped up. "What?"

"We fought," Steve said quietly, running the calluses of his thumb across Tony's collarbone, the guilt scratching at his throat, "When we got back the sceptre, you were acting different and I didn't get why and we just-- we fought." He didn't even remember what it was about. Maybe something about Tony acting closed off for no reason or the fact that not knowing enough about the Maximoff twins was getting on his nerves. He always knew he was a control freak and one thing escalated into another and then, they had a fight. He should have seen what was coming. "I should have known better."

"I hid it from you--"

"And even after that. I should have understood where you were coming from," He shook his head, disappointed in himself, "You had to deal with it alone. I am your husband, I should have been there for you more. Everyone was blaming you and- and Thor almost punched you. Even though, it wasn't only you. It was all of us."

"Steve," Tony whispered brokenly, his trembling hands wiping away Steve's damp cheeks inducing a small smile from the other man. "I wish I could believe you. But-- but I can't. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know how I am supposed to-- to live after all this. I just can't keep doing this."

And that -- that, out of all the things said yet, that was what hurt the most because Tony was never the one who just said he can't.

Steve knew Tony had never been really fond of himself. They both had had those conversations about how it always seemed like there were things that they could have done more or things that they shouldn't have done. In their line of work, the concept of being enough was abstract. Hundreds of lives could be saved but there would always be that one lost. They knew this. But Steve had never seen Tony feeling so low about himself -- so hateful towards himself that he believed Steve was going to leave him.

"I am not leaving you, Tony," He said, his voice sternfully soft as he held the smaller man onto his lap, "We will get through this together. You can. We can. I know it seems like the world is closing in on you and everybody is out of reach but I promise I am there, love. I will always be there because I love you. Peter loves you." Tony hid his face once again in Steve's chest as Steve ran his fingertips lightly across the man's hair. "You are not a bad man, Tony. I really wish you would stop seeing yourself as one."

"I hate myself for all of it, Steve." It was whispered like a secret that would never see the light of the day. "Everything I did-- I just, I hate myself."

And Steve knew.

Steve knew this was one of those nights that they wouldn't speak of again. This was one of those nights that the world would never know about-- about how Tony Stark, the sassy, smiling, sarcastic genius was nothing but a broken man who regretted his decisions. Steve knew this was one of those nights where Tony was stripped bare of his walls. This was the Tony that no one would ever know, the Tony that only Steve was allowed to see.

Steve also knew there was no dearth of bleak promises in their world. Meaningless promises were made and broken but that night, as he held a shaking Tony in his arms, Steve promised himself that he would never let the man feel as if he was unloved, as if Steve would ever leave. He couldn't promise him a forever-- they both knew it didn't exist but Steve would be damned if the man he loved spent his life in fear that he was going to be abandoned. So, he held Tony tightly against his chest, every touch reassuring of the fact that they were together and alive as he whispered the following words, a promise that he would never break.

"And I will always love you way more than that."

[peantbutter-honeycombs]

The Hollowing Series: Part I

Title: Prelude

Word count: 2,980

Characters: The 11th Doctor, Amy Pond, ocs

Warnings: Platonic fic not romantic. Crappy writing?

Notes: So three? I want to say three years ago this idea came to mind. Well not this one. But I worked off that idea and came to this. I like the idea of the Doctor being around children. They’re just so innocent. But then I though what the hell let’s torture 11 and the kids and this was born. I’ll explain more later but for now Spoilers. I reall have worked hard on this it’s my first Doctor Who fic. It’s been in my head and notes for years so please be kind and enjoy. I’m going to try, try to break this in to only 4 parts. But hey I’m a detailed writer.

Special Thanks to my college buddy B, @mirkwoodshewolf, and @underskaro​ for tolerating my ramblish rants and beta reading the chapter.

———

Down the road aways, pushed against the hills, stood a cobblestone farm style home. The front lawn was messy, jagged and uncut. From the muddy earth sprang up wildflowers and weeds, northern marches, poppies, and heathers. It was all very wild. The pedestal of a concrete birdbath was cracked and lopsided, with vines wrapping around the very base.

A trike was tangled, hidden in the tall overgrown grass. It felt out of place among the weedy garden. The bike in contrast to the exterior of the old homestead must have been brand new. Green and black, the trike was just brilliant enough to be noticeable through the thrush.

Visible from the left lower window appeared a boy, no older than 14 but no younger than 12. He reached out toward the edges of the frame, grasping at the sangria red fabric. In one swift motion, he drew the curtains closed.

“There,” the boy said, standing back to admire his work.

The four windows of the well-sized sitting room. The warm golden light that once flooded through the glass panes, faded, leaving room to feel somewhat dark and empty.

Stepping backward, the young teen collapsed over an armrest onto a sofa. The sofa’s cushions sank under the weight of him, creating a spot perfectly tailored to the shape of his body. The sofa had seen better days. The brown leather fabric was worn, torn in some places and had a great dark stain on the Center cushion that the boy couldn’t remember ever not existing.

Dragging his legs over the armrest, he moved himself so he was in a sitting position. He stretched his right hand out, leaning his body so he could reach a drawing book on the right end table. The silence of the sitting room hugged him like a security blanket, his muscles became jello, all the stress of the day just melted off him. Being the man of the house was hard.

He became lost in his own world. He didn’t utter a word for the next fifteen minutes and barely moved from his spot for a full thirty minutes. His left hand carefully looped and curved over the blank sheet of paper, no longer blank. Every now and again he’d spin his pencil around in his fingers in deep thought, or wildly erase a thoughtless mistake. He hummed along to the song blasting through his one right earbud (the one thing he’d moved to retrieve.) nodding his head in time with the 60’s melody.

The sound of creaking floorboards overhead pressed through his exposed ear, carrying him back to reality. He could hear gentle feet beating against the wood. They were almost unnoticeable over the music. Almost.

There was a lull in the footsteps, creating silence.

They must be at the stairs, he thought, beginning to set his drawing tools away.

They always stopped at the top of the stairs and the base. The stairs of the old farmhouse were criminally steep, with each weirdly a different height than the last. They were enough to give anyone unfamiliar with them a headache. If his mother had gotten them carpeted, maybe the stairs wouldn’t have been so nauseating, but she’d wanted to preserve the house’s history as best she could.

Thump, thump, thump.

He could just imagine the little human, the footsteps belonged to crawling down the stairs. Moving down them one by one, on their knees. Sort of in a reverse way of the puppy conquering the stairs in Lady and the Tramp.

“No, go away,” he called, pressing a pencil down into its colouring box. When there was quiet he looked over his shoulder, everything from the waist down just sitting there on the steps. The figure's upper body was obstructed from his view.

“I was kidding, you can come down.” He turned back to his tidying. He heard the little feet happily stomp about, then thump, thump, thump.

Focused on organising his things, he looked up only when noticing the pair of dust stained white socks out of the corner of his eye. He blinked, somewhat irritatedly, staring at the little girl who now stood across from him.

With a great sigh, he said.

“You’re really annoying sometimes, you know that?”

A child no older than four stood before him. Her brown eyes, earthy hues of the soil after rain or bark on a walnut tree. They gave him a look that was of youthful innocence. Bright auburn hair reached down to the middle of her back, slightly covering the sides of her cheeks. Her pale skin was dotted and marked with a surplus of freckles — Sophia.

Sophia frowned, taking a step back. This made the older boy quietly snicker.

He smiles in a reassuring manner, “Hello, Soph-a-loaf.” He teased goofily pronouncing her name. The slightest smile tugged at the corners of the ginger's lips. He brought Sophia onto his lap, letting her sit on his thighs. “What’s up ducky?” He asked, brushing some of her hair back behind her ear. Sophia scrunches her mouth to one side, making a few murmuring noises. “Oh really? Sounds like you’ve had a day.”

Sophia nods. She rests her head on Oliver’s stomach, looking up at him with her sweet doe eyes.

“What?”

Her eyes darted off toward the window.

“No. No.” Oliver shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. Sophia tilted her head to one side, training her attention on Oliver’s. “Seriously the park now?” Oliver whined, backing into the cushion.

He reaches for a throw pillow and covers his face with it.

“I’m sleeping,” he murmurs from behind the fabric. Sophia fusses lightly, pressing at his stomach. Oliver grunted, but kept the pillow pressed against his face. “I’m dead,” he tried.

This time Sophia head butted him in the gut. Oliver pulled a face, bringing the pillow down.

“Bleh!” He mocked, tongue lolled out of his mouth. Sophia squeaks, swatting her palm against Oliver’s arm. “Hey, we don’t hit. Sophia, I don’t want to go to the park.” Oliver said leaning down so his forehead was against hers. Sophia kindly taps her temple against his. Oliver chuckles softly, giving her forehead a sweet peck. “Sophey Tophie.”

He lifts Sophia off his lap, setting her on the floor in front of him.

“I suppose… it would be nice to get out of the house.” His eye drifted to a calendar on the interior sidewall of the sitting room. He couldn’t remember when he circled that day. Sophia excitedly bounces up and down. “What are you a rabbit?” The little ginger doesn’t respond, bouncing her way to the front door.

Oliver rolls his eyes. Upon realisation, he sprang up from the sofa.

“Sophia, you need a coat!”

-

The two children squinted against the hazy Yorkshire rain. The rain was cool against their exposed skin. It felt nice, refreshing even. It ran through their hair, smoothing out Sophia’s auburn waves, mopping Oliver’s ash brown locks. It plastered small individual strands to each of their faces.

Oliver chatted away as they went down the muddy, winding path. Chatting isn't quite the right word as Sophia never spoke. It had only taken him two minutes to go off on a tangent about something or other.

Sophia, only kind of sort of listening, pedaling her hand-me-down trike. His voice disappeared into the white noise, allowing her to quietly enjoy the English landscape.

The countryside stretched and weaved as far as the eye could see. Rustic English cottages and cobblestone farm houses dotted the grassy hills. The land gently rolled up and down the valley, merging with the uneven, mist filled moors half way up the emerald green mounds of earth.

Dew, white and clear, decorated the damp droopy grass the land glittered, sparkling under the orange purpling sunlight.

The houses of the humdrum sleepy town were few and well spaced out. One could walk a good half a mile before reaching their neighbours' property. Those closer to the center of town were flats, pushed together in neat lines, occupying the space over the small, often family owned shops.

Oliver and Sophia arrived at the park in twenty minutes. Sophia having to struggle, pedaling through the mud had set them back. However, neither of the children seemed to care. Sophia hopped off the trike and clicked off her helmet, abandoning both on the pavement. She couldn’t wait to explore the soggy park.

For the next 20 minutes they hung out at the park, Sophia wandered the grassy playing field picking at wild flowers while Oliver practiced his kicks. In the following ten, Sophia ran up the stairs then went down the slide. She’d dust herself off, then go round again. The next five minutes she sat still, a bit tired, content to watch the villagers while Oliver puttered around.

“Oi! Sophia, I’m goin’ to the loo. I’ll be back right back!” Oliver shouted from the far side of the futbol field. The park had no bathroom, so he’d have to walk clear cross the road to Brews Brothers’ Pub. The popular bar had an outdoor side restroom reserved for the public.

Sophia watched Oliver leave until he became nothing more than a speck in the distance.

The quiet times brought a certain comfort to Sophia. It was the perfect time to watch people revel in the coolness of other humans’ lives. Usually the park was a buzz with townsfolk, mostly children. They melded together and dotted the public lawn like A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte. But now there was little life to distinguish the little village from Oradour-sur-Glane, France.

The night air, though cool, had a biting sharpness to it. No thanks to the rain. Sophia sniffs through her nostrils, inhaling the almost intoxicating spring air. Sitting on the bench, her little legs swung over mud coated grass. Misty rain was still falling steadily, and the temperature had dropped considerably.

Sophia wasn’t bothered though.

Reaching for a short stick she traces some shapes in the ground. She nods her head, humming a tune she couldn’t quite place.

“You know, sometimes I wonder if you actually know how to fly the TARDIS.” A voice, female with a thick Scottish accent, said.

Two foreign voices cut through the cold silence. Her eyes dart down the path. From where she sat she could hear them, the voices, bickering. About what, she had no clue.

Out of mist in the distance strode what appeared to be a young couple. The man seemed tall. His dark brown hair was long, stuck to his forehead in a droopy fashion, much like Ollie’s. Despite looking like a young man, he wore clothes that reminded Sophia of one of the town retirees; a Donegal tweed sport jacket with elbow patches, an off white dress shirt, rolled up deep blue trousers and… and bow tie?

Bow ties are for Sunday, Sophia thought, eyes narrowing at the approaching pair.

His partner appeared to be much more put together. Auburn hair, just a smidge less vibrant than Sophia’s framed a pale Scottish face. An irradiated cross expression dominated her features. Her voice wasn’t high nor low, it perfectly suited her in an indescribable way. And unlike the man to her right, she wore clothes appropriate for her age.

The pair stopped in the middle of the path, continuing to argue.

“Of course, I know how to fly the TARDIS sometimes she- she just has a mind of her own.” The lanky man argued, earning an eye roll from the ginger.

“We’re supposed to be England,” She grouched. “What about Churchill? This looks like— are we in Scotland?”

Sophia scoffed, shaking her head, tourists. She watched as the man licked a finger, held it against the wind, then popped it back in his mouth.

“No, no. I’m sure we’re in England.”

The finger crossed her arms over her chest in a cool way.

“Shouldn’t there be I dunno fighters, soldiers, something? I’m getting sheep.” She said looking round the area. She wasn’t wrong there were sheep, white puffs mindlessly grazing on the hills. When she looked back at the man, he was squatting. In his right hand he held a good chunk of mud.

“Wha—What are you doing?”

“Definitely in England. Westerdale Yorkshire, to be more precise. Right country wrong period. Does something seem off to you?” He asked, running a thumb over the mucky mud, cautiously examining it.

His partner snorted indignantly.

“Something or… someone? No don’t eat the—”

Sophia quickly pushed her head down, crinkling her nose. Adults are weird. She turned her attention to her dirt scribbles. She didn’t understand what they were on about, anyway. Hopefully they’d be on their way soon. They didn’t belong.

There’s a weight increase, bending the planks of the bench. An electric chill ran up Sophia’s spine, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The reaction wasn’t from the cold. There was a weight increase bending the planks of the bench.

“Well hello there, I’m the Doctor. What’s your name.”

Surprise was never an emotion Sophia handled well. Her shoulders went rigid, her entire body defensively readying itself. Her sweet eyes become stoney. Her breathing felt as if it was becoming more shallow with each breath. The guarding alarms inside her mind we’re going crazy halting the thinking gears of her brain.

The man held his hands up resignedly. “No, no, don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” There was a gentleness to his tone, a kind of concern. Sophia couldn’t be sure. No matter something about him. She let her shoulders go loose, but the rest of her still felt tense. “Would you mind? I have a few questions.”

Sophia allowed herself to relax a little more, not completely but more.

“Doctor!” The scot’s voice rang up briefly, sending Sophia back into defensive mode. “You can’t keep talking to children you don’t know.” She sounded like a mother chiding her young child.

Her comment sparked a minor argument between the pair.

Sophia took the time to lean back and take the pair in full, particularly the man. He was a little more normal-ish looking up close. Normal enough. There was something about his eyes she couldn’t quite describe.

Sophia observed the two curiously, unaware that the fear, once crushing her chest, was steadily subsiding.

“I introduced myself this time. Oh yes,” the Doctor swiftly turns to Sophia, “this is Amy.”

“That’s not how it works,” Amy grumbled.

Her partner ignores her, keeping his attention on Sophia. “There’s something… something about this place. Don't know. I think-" He spoke fast, flaggishly moving his hands about. “Well I know it’s something. Too many ideas. Head’s bit cloudy.” He knocked on his temple.

Sophia, though a little behind, shifted uncomfortably.

“Need to narrow it down…” he trailed off. Sophia, her left palm on her thigh, absently traces along each finger with her right index. He observes Sophia with a kind, sort of calculating, gaze.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?

Concurrently, Ollie was on his way back from the toilet. He dribbles across the park, knocking a futbol between one foot and the other. “He’s going for the full court folks.” He deepened his voice, trying to mimic the vocals of a proper sports announcer. “He’s at the 75 marker, will he go for the assist?” He sped up, using a lace touch to control the ball. “He passes to,” Oliver knocks the ball clear cross the field.

“No one.”

He’d get his ball back tomorrow. The silence made his blood as cold as the icy waters of a polar plunge, as he strode across the park to where he had left Sophia.

Everything was still hazy and cloudy from the English rain. Billions of trillions of icy drops dripped down his neck and fell off the flaps of his slicker. In this de-focused world, he could just make the outlined silhouette of Sophia.

“Sophia. Sophia?”

He goes taut, stopping in his tracks. For a moment his brain glitches. His eyes went wide, mouth falling slightly ajar. Although he was staring at Sophia, he was seeing more than he expected.

“Sophia, what do you think you’re doing?” His voice was steady, but had a sharpness to it. “Talking to strangers?” He holds a hand out, which Sophia compliantly takes within seconds.

“And you lot.” The ginger seemed taken back by Oliver’s frigidity. A tween scolding two strange grownups, one of them a Scot, bit startling. The gentleman, however, seemed off in his head, silently mouthing the same word over and over. “You can’t just be talking to people you don’t know, numpties.”

“Oi, watch it.”

Oliver’s eyes sourly narrow. “You’re not from around here, are you?” He deadpanned.

“Just passing through. Hello, I’m the—”

“You should keep passing,” Oliver interrupted. Stepping between Sophia and the pair. Sophia could only watch as Oliver spoke to the two adults. “Leave town before it gets dark.” He warned, picking Sophia up, holding her on his hip.

“Is everything okay?” The gentleman asked, stepping up from the bench.

Though his expression held a casual indifference, his skin goes colourless. He let out an understated sigh, bowing his head and turning to leave. “I have to get Sophia home. It's almost supper time.”

Sophia beats her head against Oliver's shoulder, hitting it just hard enough to make the older child wince. He rolls his eyes, but turns back to the pair. “If you are going to stay… it’s only fair.” He sounded like a toddler forced to apologise.

“I must warn you.” He let his face fall in seriousness.

“Beware what lies in the mist of the Moors.”

[webberslive-blog]

TIRE STICKERS, the world's first and only official global provider of unique stickers and Tire Sidewall Lettering Kits. You can Buy Permanent Tire Lettering Kits for high-performance automobiles, bicycles, motorcycles and off-road vehicles. You can enhance maintenance of vehicle with White Tire Lettering Kit and Falken Tire Lettering Kit. It is very easy to install, simply prepare the tire surface to clean off dirt and oil. Then glue on the lettering sticker and enjoy the new look.

[scottnelson21223]

When To Replace Road Bike Tires? 7 Signs To Check For

When to replace road bike tires? You can only answer this question after learning about signs displayed on your bike when it needs new tires. 

This article will show you the most common indicators for the replacement. You can also discover tips to replace road bike tires on your own.

Let's jump into the details! 

When To Replace Road Bike Tires? 

When you notice any sign of damage or degradation in the road bike tire, try to replace it as soon as possible. The tread, sidewalls, rubber surface, and casing are the first parts that give you indications. 

Worn-Out Tread

Tread refers to the section of the bike tire that contacts the ground while riding. It's a thick rubber protective layer with patterns. The more you ride, the faster the tread wears down. 

If you notice a worn-out tread on your bike tire, replace it. Otherwise, all surfaces will become slippery for the bike. 

Bulges On Sidewalls

A bike tire has multiple rubber layers. If they start to separate from each other, there will be bubbles or bulges on the tire. It indicates that it has lost its patterns and structure. 

You will encounter a disaster if you don't replace your tire soon. The already-separated rubber layers may continue to split, and the tire as a whole may collapse.

1. Sidewalls may suffer from excessive use

Cracked Rubber

You may start to see rubber fractures in an old bike tire. They usually appear on the edges of the tread patterns or knobs.

This sign indicates that the rubber is degrading and getting weaker. If you keep riding on it, the cracks will worsen, and the tire might blow out.

Constant Flats 

If you keep having flat tires, something may be wrong with your tire setup. There must be some problems with the sidewalls or inner tubes. Another possible case is a sharp object trapped between the inner tubes and the tire. 

If all the situations above don't happen, it must be the tire itself for the cause. You should consider replacing it now. 

2. Constant flats are signs to replace the tire 

Holes And Cuts 

If the holes or cuts on your road bike tire are tiny, you can fix them with patches. 

For tubeless tires, use tubeless tire sealant products. They work well to seal around the punctures and nails. 

However, if you notice large cuts or holes, there won't be anything you can do for your bike tire except for replacing it.  

Worn-Out Casing 

The nylon threads (TPI) that strengthen and shape the case may wear down. Before injuring yourself, discard the tire if you notice any white fibers.  

How To Replace Road Bike Tires? 

After identifying the case, replacing your road bike tire is a must. But how can you do it? The instructions are as follows:

Step 1: Remove The Wheel

If you want to replace the front wheel, first disconnect the brakes before finding the quick-release lever for immediate removal.

If you work with the rear wheel, set the gears up to the smallest ring. Then, find the brakes and quick-release lever. 

Step 2: Deflate The Old Tires

Deflating the tire will help you push the tire closer to its rim and move it up to the center of the wheel.  

Step 3: Remove The Tire From Its Wheel

Separate the rim and the tire using a tire lever. You can attach the hooked end of the lever to the tire's edge. Then, pull the lever over the rim. 

Next, slide the tire rube out of the tire. This step will be easier if you push the air valve through the frame of the wheel and remove it.

Inflate the new tube slightly. It will get into shape and shouldn't be fully inflated. 

After that, let it slide into the tire. Make sure that the valve of the tube and the valve hole of the rim get in line. 

Next, use a tire lever to push the remaining tire over the rim's edge. After setting the tire onto the rim, install the wheel to your road bike. 

Finally, give it a bump and check if your new tire can work properly.

3. Replace the tire and be ready to conquer the road 

Conclusion 

You can tell if your road bike tires need replacement by checking their condition. The tread, rubber, casing, or hole and cuts on them are easily noticeable.

Once you find them, replace the tires as soon as possible. Otherwise, you will get into trouble. 

Hopefully, you will find this guide helpful. Please comment in the section below if you need more information about road bike tires. We will get back to you soon.

Thank you for reading!

Article Source: https://www.campfireusa.org/when-to-replace-road-bike-tires

[americanomni]

Classic 787 Tire by Vercelli Tire

The CLASSIC 787 is a traditional all-season white sidewall design featuring slotted shoulders and a wear-resistant tread compound for trouble-free mileage and a quiet ride. The wide, longitudinal grooves provide good handling on both wet and dry surfaces while the flexible body design improves ride comfort. Backed by our No Questions Asked, 25/365 Free Replacement Limited Protection Policy.

Check out the sizes here.

[mrmethbook]

             Chapter 2, First test and none of the rest.

WORNING!!!;...THIS POST MAY BE A TRIGGER TO ANYONE WITH PRIOR MATH HISTORY.

Finley after leaving that never-ending situation, Mr. Later tells me to do the usual driving maneuvers. Turn here, turn there, turn around here. 

After all of that, he tells me to drive out of town toward the old drive-in.

Heading out that way, he tells me. “Do you remember when I mentioned (misdirection is key) Bone’s, you’ll hear me tell you such and such is a key. Mr. Bone’s this is one of those times.

These things I tell you are keys to this little big city. Those such and such are like keys on a keychain, there the keys that will open the doors to this dark world.

“I’m teaching you these things to not only keep you safe. But more importantly, in this case, to keep me safe which is always most important. Understand?” He asks.

Do I understand? Fuck yeah I understand, you're talking straight and not all that twisted jib-talk*. I think to myself.

Looking at him I simply nod, then I tell him in an almost mocking tone of voice. “Yeah, I understand there like keys on a keychain, or like tools to use at my discretion.”

“Bone’s I can't stand a mockingbird, I go out of my way to swat the little bastards with my favorite tennis racket every damn time I hear one.” He tells me with a hornet's sting to his voice.

Then after what felt like four hours. But in actual none jib-time* is only a half an hour.

“Pull in the lane on the right-hand side just after the old drive-in,” Mr. Later tells me.

Pulling into the lane I notice a no trespassing sign that reads. IF YOU COME ON MY PROPERTY. I'LL SHOOT YOU IN THE FACE!!!. 

I also notice three vehicles for sale out front by the road. The first one I notice is a rusted out chevy cavalier, the second car is an old station wagon with no front bumper and is packed full of styraphome. Last I see a  

7

GMC Vandura A-Team van. It's black and red with the spoiler and everything, the only difference is there are no tires or rims on the van.

The lane is a half-mile off the road, with water-filled potholes, a few left and right turns. Both sides of the lane consist of treelines on both sides and cornfields as far as the eye can see. 

    I hope I never get lost and spun out here. It would be a horrifying labyrinth of lostness.

    The lane ends in what looks like tall junkyard fencing, its twenty feet tall and keeps on going into the blistering horizon.

    Pulling up to the metal fence I look to my left then to my right. All I can see is a twenty~foot wall as far as I can see.

    What in the hell kind of place is this? I ask myself.

    Sitting in the truck waiting for my next order, I notice a big ass pile of pop cans the size of a large dog house. Mr. Later tells me to turn off the truck, I have no idea what's going to happen next.

    “Well Bone’s first things first let's get high, but before we turn the bolts on this monster meth 

machine, I’m going to show you how to make your very own smoking bulb.” He tells me with a sideshow doctor’s demeanor.

    “Have you ever smoked meth out of a light bulb before boy?” I’m asked.

    “I've heard about using a light bulb, personally I've only used aluminum foil,” I tell him with immediate regret because of the look of, You fucking dumbass, is all across his face.

    By the look on my face, I can tell he knows I have no idea why he's making that face for.

    How in the hell am I supposed to know why in the fuck you're making that face for, no ones ever told me about any of this shit before. Of course, I don't tell him this.

    “You fucking tard aluminum foil gives you Alzheimers you dip shit, hasn't anyone ever told you anything before?” The calculative criminal asks me.

    I can tell this is coming from a man with no personal interest and has been in the jib-field* for many man-hours and light-years.

    “Well Bone’s today's your lucky day, I’m going to show you first hand how to make your very own smoking bulb.” The self~made man tells me.

    “Let's get out of the truck. We'll need adequate construction space, we’ll have to use the hood of your truck to complete this unforgettable feat.” He instructs me with an erector set master prowess.

    Getting out of my truck, I walk to the front hood of my S10 truck.

    “This is my M.T.S. Bone’s, or its also known as my mini~twak~sack*. Every Jib~Gyver* is required to own one, they're very important to tweakers all across the land.” Mr. Later tells me while taking off his camo fanny pack from his shoulder, it has pockets all the way around the fanny pack.

    I give him an inquiring look. 

    “This is what I keep all my tweek shit in.” I’m told with lowered eyebrows. ”What the hell else would it be.” He finished with panther in his voice. 

    Standing in front of my truck, Mr. Later perseids to start taking various items out of his M.T.S. 

                                                        8

He starts pulling out a brand new light bulb, needle nose pliers, salt shaker and one small hand torch. Amongst other miscellaneous tweek-tools*. He lays these items across my truck hood like a surgeon getting ready to perform surgery on his grandmother's favorite poodle.

    “I don't know if that rattle brain of yours can handle any more priceless knowledge Bone’s, are you ready?” He asks me with an all~knowing tone.

    “Yes Mr. Later, I’m always ready to learn, like they say knowledge is power right?” I tell the wisdom maker.

    “That's the smartest thing I think I’ve heard you say, boy.” He tells me with a sly smile across his graces.

    With bulb in one hand and needle-nose pliers in the other, holding the bulb upside down, he starts to tell me. “The first thing I’m going to show you is that you have to smash the dark glass with the side of your pliers when the dark glass is smashed you have to take off the flat round metal tab.”

    “Then use the needle nose part of the pliers to dig out the dark glass, making a circular motion until all the glass falls out, all that should be left is the lighting element that's inside of the glass bulb.” Mr. Later the magician shows me so I’ll wont have to relearn the precious process ever again. 

    At this point, I’m looking at him in awe like a magician's apprentice.

    “Now it's time to remove the lighting element, to do this you have to insert the tip of the needle-nose pliers into the newly made hole, once again make a circular motion breaking the lighting element, Make sure to be extra careful not to break the glass of the light bulb, it's easy to break around the light socket part.” He shows me on the bulb exactly where not to break.

    “Once the element is broken you have to shake all the glass out of the bottom of the bulb when the glass is all out,  there is a wire that is attached to the sidewall of the bulb, use the needle-nose pliers to break the wire-free.” Once again he shows me the wire, he breaks the wire, so I can see it.

    “After the wire is broken, its time to shack out the lighting element. Now for the salt shaker, pour some salt into the light bulb, it won't take much, put your thumb over the hole and shake until all the white coating is off the sides of the glass.” While doing this, Mr. Later continues showing me while he works his magic.

    “If you don't get all the salt out it will leave little black burnt specks inside the bulb when you use it, then you’ll waste your dope.” Mr. Later tells me.

    With mouth dropped I soak up the knowledge like a sponge, lighting the small hand torch he tells me. “Now this is the most important part, the carb. If you want a good blast you have to have good airflow like a fuel-injected carburetor on a 440 engine.” I'm told with precision.

    Putting the opening of the bulb to his mouth. He starts to blow constant pressure into the bulb with his mouth, then he puts the tip of the torch flame on one spot of the glass, making tiny circular motions.” The constant pressure in the bulb and the heat of the flame will pop a hole in the glass after a few seconds.” The glassmaker shows me the technique.

                                                         9

    After a few seconds, I hear a pop, the hole popped out of the glass like a rabbit popping out of a magician's hat.

    Mr. Later looks over the beautiful bulb for any modifications like a new mother looking to see if she has a six-fingered newborn baby.

    Mr. Later tells me. “Now we arrive at the final conclusion, the most important part, getting high as fuck.”

    “If I’m packing* the bulb your smoking the dope till it's all gone.” I’m told with wide eyes.

    “Of course I’ll be showing you first hand how to properly get a blast from the present past.” He tells me smiling.

    “If you're a fast learner you’ll learn to melt the dope and not burn it up.” I’m told from the criminal savant.

    “You smoke the hell out of the jib* while I go to meet some ignorant fool that's interested in buying one of the lemons for sale out by the road.” He tells me.

    How could I possibly say no to that, free meth, you can count me in.” I think to myself.

    But instead, I tell Mr. Later. “okay sounds good to me. When do I start.”

    “If that's what you want, let's get started.” He tells me while pouring methamphetamine a third the way full in the light bulb.

    “Bone’s I’ll hit the bulb a few times so you can get the jest of this precious process of never~ending endurance.” He tells me while hitting the bulb a few times in a row.

    Each time Mr. Later puff twist, puff twist, then he blows out a cloud of smoke so big I want to catch it in a ziplock baggie to save for later.

    “I'm going to leave you to the jib~vices* while I use your truck to go meet those dumb fucks that want to buy one of my shitty cars.” He tells me more then asks.

     Mr. Later puts away his tweek tools into his M.T.S, then slides into my truck without a second thought.

    Pulling down the lane Mr. Later slows to a stop in front of me. “Hay Bone’s if you get a chance between hits, sort that big ass pile of pop cans into the five~gallon buckets by the fence, if you don’t forget to put the bulb down it will send you into a time warp, Okay?” He tells me pointing at the pile of cans.

    “One more thing, don't let oblivion drag into its undertow of impending darkness.” Then he pulls down the lane humming that song again.

                                                 ~Mr. Later at his finest~

    Pulling down the lane Mr. Later thinks to himself. If this one passes the first test he's lucky he has a strong mind. That's the real test.

    Almost to the front of the lane, he sees a creepy looking van with the front passenger side fender taken off so the tweekers can scrap the metal to buy Mr. Later his L7s*.

                                                                     10

                             

    Thanking to himself. I love a tweeker that will do whatever it takes to get my beans*. It brings warm fuzzy feelings to my heart.

    Parking the truck, Mr. Later sees a pure twack~star* of a sub~human experiment gone way to wrong standing by the rust bucket of a Chevy Cavalier for sale.

    The creature has a headlamp on his head and a bandana covering the lower portion of its face, the scarrow crow of a man has a twack~sack with what looks like tweek~tools spilling out everywhere as he moves. This is all happening right in broad daylight.

    My kind of twack~ien* if you ask me.

    Slick Eddy stops whatever in the hell he was doing, then he walks straight for the truck.

    Slick Eddy yells. “YO LATER IS THIS CAR FOR SALE.” The dumb fuck yells at the top of his lungs.

    “That's what the sign says don't it, you remedial shit.” Mr. Later tells him in a shitty voice.

    Then Mr. Later hears someone yell from the creepy~ass van. “Hurry up, we have to go.”

    “I thought I told you to leave your sideshow of a wife at home you fuck, she creeps me out.” Mr. Later tells Eddy with spital coming out of his mouth.

    “You know how bitches are, they always have to come, or else.” The side-show tells Mr. Later. 

    “I got your box’s*of pseudoephedrine.” ecactuly at that moment Mr. Later cuts him off. “HAY YOU NUMBNUT FUCK, I’ve told you to call them L7s if you can't do that then kick rocks, you none remembering mother fucker.”

    Then Slick Eddy tells him. “Sorry, Mr. Later won't happen again.” Then he asks. “Don't you have a daughter?”

    “FUCK NO I DON'T HAVE A DAUGHTER AND WHAT IN THE HELL DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING YOU SLIMY SHIT!!” Mr. Later yells at him.

    Mr. Later hears the other sideshow in the front seat of the van say. “I told you he doesn't have a daughter Eddy.”

    Slick Eddy turns back around yelling at his fat ass whale of a wife. “Shut the fuck up you fat bitch and quite picking the dogs face, it looks like mutilated monkey meat and your the silverback gorilla, you stupid cunt,” Then she just goes back to picking the dogs face.

    “Eddy put the L7s in the floorboard of the Cavalier. "What you're looking for is in the console of the van, no, not your van you dumb shit, how could it be in your van already?” Mr. Later tells Slick Eddy when he starts for his own van.

    Looking over at Eddy’s van Mr. Later tells him. “Never bring that fat ass whale blubber of a wife here again.If you do I'll shoot her with a harpoon, do you understand me, you creep show?” Slick Eddy’s told by the striking viper that's sliding into the S10 truck.

    Pulling back down the lane Mr. Later hears a dog howling like he just got his nuts frozen to the train tracks. I wonder if Bone’s has sorted and counted the cans if he has I’ll be spunder~struck*.

                                           11

    

When Mr. Later pulls down the lane I look at the bulb in my hand thanking. It's time to find out what smoking meth out of a bulb is all about.

    I start hitting the bulb making sure I don't let the flame touch the glass of the bulb. just like Mr. Later showed me.

    I start puffing and twisting, puffing and twisting, my mind into a stuttering light speed.

    Then finally I look over to notice the pile of smashed cans the size of a large dog house.

    I look at the bulb, then back again, finally it clicks.

    The pile of cans Mr. Later asked me to sort them into the five~gallon buckets while he’s off doing whatever in the hell he's doing.

    Personally, at this point, I don't give two shits. I think to myself. If this is obvilion I’m holding on with my two hands and one of yours, never letting go.

    After two more hits, I sit the bulb down looking at the row of buckets against the fence. There are different kinds of pop/beer cans nailed above each bucket, Coca Cola, Budweiser, and A.&.W cream soda.

    At this point, I start sorting the cans at sub~jib light speed with complete one hundred percent accuracy of three~handed precision, after what felt like five minutes of frisbee tossing, in actuality is forty~five minutes of hindsight what the fucks.

    What in the hell is time when shit is this fun?

    After playing frisbee, I walk over to the five~gallon buckets, looking in them, I realize each 

bucket looks like they have the exact same amount it each of them.

    For just a second’s pause, I think. Is this me looking too far into this hole, the same amount of cans in the bucket thing? I ask myself.

    I start to count each bucket of cans. The first bucket has 23 cans, the second bucket has 23 cans, the third bucket has the same. Why 23 cans in each. I wonder.

   There must be 23 cans in each bucket. I assume.

    Looking up I see Mr. Later parking the truck, the first thing he asks is. “How many cans in each bucket Bone’s?”

    I look back at him with a quizzical gaze.

    He asks again. “Damn it boy, how many canes Bone’s?” This time he asks more intently.

He asks again. “Damn it boy, how many canes Bone’s?” This time he asks more intently.

    “23,” I answer him with a, I know I’m right kind of ring to it.

    Mr. Later strikes back with. “No you fuck 22cans in the fifth bucket, Why didn't you count each bucket, you wanting to get back to your bulb on the brain time?”

    I came straight back with. “Fuck no I didn't count them all, it would have taken too much time from what did you call it, My very own personal downward spiral,” I tell him.

    Mr. Later thinks to himself. This one put down the bulb long enough to sort the cans, just the fact that he put the bulb down means he might just have the right kind of mind for this lifestyle if he's lucky.

                                           12

    Mr. Later simply tells me. ”Mr. Bone’s like you told me earlier, without knowledge you have no power of the mind. Is that what you have a weak mind? People with weak minds are something I do not keep around me, or my family, that's for damn sure.” He tells me with a matter of fact tone of voice.

     Family? I wonder.

“Well Bone’s, are you ready for this fractured wonder opera adventure I’m calling a mishap?” He asks me while waiting for my answer.

    “Why not, I like adventures,” I tell him, with the thought of family still spinning in my revolving brain.

    “Boy, this is going to be one hell of an adventure. I can guarantee that.” Mr. Later tells me with his Grinch smile.

    “Get the hell in the truck, I’m taking you in. Not too many make it past the gate, although you may have the right kind of eyebrows to continue on this slaughterhouse adventure of twist and turns you'll never forget in a million meth years.” He tells me with a showmen's smile.

    I start my truck while he opens the gate, then he waves me in.

[detroitlib]

Packard Co. file photograph of a 1957 Packard three-quarter front right view, dual white sidewall tires, redesigned emblem, female standing at driver's door waving. Photo caption on back from unidentified Packard source: "The Packard Clipper station wagon, first such body type for Packard since 1950, will be shown for the first time at the Chicago Automobile Show opening Saturday, January 5, the new model along with a 4-door sedan will be introduced by dealers January 24th, the 4-door station wagon combines passenger car performance and luxury appointments, in keeping with Packard's fine car tradition, with a 65-cubic foot load carrying capacity, the station wagon will offer 15 percent better performance than previous Packard Clippers with a V-8 engine equipped with a supercharger, advanced engineering will include two features which are exclusive for the medium priced field for 1957."

Courtesy of the National Automotive History Collection, Detroit Public Library