That typewriter was a friend of mine, and we worked like a well-oiled machine. The thing about that typewriter, it never tried to correct me. It always went along with what I said and wrote – and never talked back to me. I was actually in charge.

I could always tell where my typewriter was because it was where I put it, and it never moved. To move that typewriter would have been a big job, and so it always remained on my desk in my room exactly where I put it. I could not take it traveling with me; I had to use it where it was. At the time, I thought I had no better friend than that old typewriter of mine. To look at it now, I kinda smile as I remember how things have changed.



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