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May 4, 2010

For an early birthday gift, my wife got me this old typewriter. We keep it next to the front door, and poke little messages at the keys when we pass–notes to each other, one-line updates and thoughts–kind of like a crude but well-intentioned twitter feed.

I picture, when we are much older, boxes and boxes of paper with these long swaying columns of one-liners, a cryptic but hopefully poetic record of our time on earth. We need to get a new ribbon.

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