The tire in cross section

Seven layers separate the tread of a steel belted radial from the air it holds, and the cutaway display tire mounted near the service counter shows all seven, sliced clean through the sidewall and left standing on a small steel base like a geode caught mid explanation. Customers rarely touch it. Children occasionally trace a finger along the exposed belt lines before being redirected toward a chair, and technicians point at it exactly once per shift, usually to a customer who has just been told the word delamination for the first time. Dust collects fastest in the innermost ring, closest to where the rim would sit, a pale grey film that no one has wiped since the display was installed. The manufacturer stamp along the outer wall has faded to a suggestion of numbers rather than the numbers themselves, the kind of wear that comes from ambient light rather than handling. Nothing about the tire has moved in years except the dust settling deeper into its rings, layer by layer, in roughly the same pattern the tire itself was built to resist. It remains the only object in the waiting area that shows, without being asked a single question, exactly what is happening under every car parked outside.

R. Quist