The rain streaked against the window of "The Rewind Room," a shop that smelled of old plastic and ozone. Behind the counter, Elias sat hunched over a workbench, his glasses sliding down his nose as he peered into the guts of a shattered T-120 tape. It was a home movie—the only copy of a 1988 wedding—and the magnetic ribbon had snapped clean in two.
Elias thanked her and stepped out into the rain. He knew exactly where to go. Half an hour later, he was standing in a dusty corner of an old broadcast supply warehouse, holding a pristine, silver roll of 1/2-inch splicing tape. where to buy vhs splicing tape
He reached for his dispenser, but it was empty. Not just out of tape, but out of the right tape. You couldn't use Scotch or electrical tape; the adhesive would bleed, gumming up the VCR heads and ruining the memory forever. He needed genuine 1/2-inch polyester splicing tape. The rain streaked against the window of "The