Gosh, I remember the old garage. workshop, fix-it-shed smell like yesterday, Milly!
Concrete floor stained with oil, old oily and soiled clothes laying around, a cigarette butt or two stubbed out on the floor, takes me back to when I was a young child and the neighbour would fix all of us neighbourhood kids bikes.
We'd wheel up to his garage, he'd have the wood stove going (cold/damp mornings/seasons), he'd be smoking his pipe, and just like a service station, no sooner we brought our bikes to him, we'd be back in business.