I tell Musette about the typewriter idea.

She’s into it, having never been much of an ello fan.

“We can go on our day off.” she says.

There is a place in Queens and a place in the city. Musette tells me to call the place in Queens, but I avoid doing it, so she calls them.

“You sell typewriters?” she asks.

There is an old man on the other end of the line. I read a review of this place that said the people who work there are cranky curmudgeons, but they must not be used to the unpretentious type of voice being presented by Musette because this man sounds very cordial, in my opinion.

“Yes. We sell typewriters here. We also repair them.”

“What are your prices?” she asks.

He tells her that prices vary depending upon the model.

“How easy are they to maintain?”

“Well, there are some electric ones, which we sell, that are still being manufactured. The parts are very easy to come by and they are brand new, so you don’t have to worry about previous wear and tear.”

I tell her to ask about Olympias.

“We have them,” he says, “but they can be quite a bit more difficult to repair as the parts are no longer in production. It can end up costing you a lot more in the long run, and they’re not as effective as the ones being made today.”

It’s not what I wanted to hear. I want something antique, a true death machine, with ghosts maybe. But it strikes me that this line of thought is probably what keeps these curmudgeons cranky. Jack Kerouac wrote On the Road on an Olympia. He did it on a single scroll of paper. Just pounded it out in a couple of weeks. He didn’t have Chromebooks, Netbooks, or even Selectrics. The Olympia was the most effective and most easy to come by machine of his day.

The point is to get the words on paper, instantly, without having to present them to my friends and foes in the current fashion. No servers, no ‘like’ buttons, no reshares. Instant publication of the antique format. A one of a kind piece of art.

“Alright.” Musette says, “We’ll see you soon.”

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