fix tender_square my bike’s tire was fucked. dad deflated it, peeled it from the metal frame and brought it to the backyard as i worked to show me the wound. “can it be fixed?” i asked. “look at the size of it!” he poked his finger at the flap of rubber. “it can’t be patched?” he shot me a look. “you need a whole new tire.” “well,” i shrugged. “mom said i could use her bike tomorrow.” “do you want me to try and fix it?” it didn’t seem worth the effort for a single ride, when i was sure our bike season was gone. it could wait until next year. later, i saw dad fiddling with the air compressor. he had me connect the hose to the valve while he held a loose tire. i thought he was tuning up his own bike in preparation. once the wheel stiffed, he carried it to the front of the garage where by bike was resting on its handlebars and seat, one tire short. “i thought you said i needed a new tire.” “jus neeee a ne tub” he said with washers between his teeth. “and you just had one on hand?” i held the bolts while he aligned the fasters to the frame. he kept his eyes focused on the rachet. “no, i went to the store and picked one up.” behind us on the pool table, the pristine white box was open. together, we turned the bike over. “try it out,” he said. i lifted my right leg over the frame and perched on the seat, pedaling down the driveway, turning down the boulevard. it was smooth pedaling as the thick tires on my beach cruiser carried me across asphalt, and back to the driveway where my dad, smiling in the sun, waited for my review. 221022 what's it to you? who go blather from