I can’t remember what model it was, but I do remember two things about it. It was made of metal with that particular pebbly coat of paint. Also I remember the sound it made. It was the first typewriter I ever struck a key on. As a child, many things of your parents and grandparents held a great deal of mystique. Even though I had no idea how to type, nor did I have anything in particular that I wanted to write, I enjoyed playing on that typewriter. The sound of an old manual typewriter is one of those pure sounds, like breaking glass or the scissors cutting paper. It is pure, unmistakable.
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