
Times were very different then. When one of our books was torn, we didn’t junk it. We took it to a little shop where a bookbinder rebound it.
When our briefcase (we didn’t have backpacks then) was falling apart, we didn’t discard it. Instead, we took it to that same shop where the proprietor stitched it and fixed it.
The proprietor of the shop that my friends and I frequented, down on the Lower East side of Manhattan, was an old man named Yossel.
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