Post 115: The Trampoline Wars

When I was a wee bairn, I remember there being a gas station, also called a service station, on every corner downtown. Fuel was cheap in those days, and no, we didn’t tie onions to our belts. Sheesh. Anyway, the stations would give away glassware or antennae balls or kid toys. And they would lower their price per gallon by a few cents to lure in the budget-conscious motorist. Them were the days. Continue reading