ONE OF THE SIMPLE PLEASURES of living around here was going to Vince Castagna’s Tappan Auto shop on Route 303 and Oak Tree Road to get my car inspected. I’d walk in to his tiny waiting room furnished with old car seats with the stuffing lolling out, newspapers, vintage magazines with their covers torn off, out-of-date calendars, oil cans, anti-freeze, tires and decades of dirt and whatnot, all that you’d expect from that line of work, and hidden by the clutter in plain sight would be Judy, Vince’s wife, in all her comforting bulk, stationed at her little desk doing crossword puzzles out of a crossword puzzle book. She’d look up at me as if I were interrupting, and I guess I was, but then she’d quickly get down to business and call Vince in from the garage to take care of me. They were a team. He’d drive the car into the work bay, get out, let her climb into it, and she’d call out numbers he’d crunch into some sort of hand-held device, then pronounce me inspected. It was the same year after year. After completing the ritual, Judy would charge me $25 and I’d be on my way.