I sit now, in a wooden desk chair with arms. An old green “Quiet Riter” typewriter sits upon the wooden desk before me. The desk drawer is open beside me with a fresh stack of paper, waiting. A small waste can, the circular file, sits waiting, patiently for my next frustrated toss of another crumpled page. I can smell the paper, and the carbon behind it – because, why not keep a copy for myself? Now, that’s old school. Read more