I Want to be a Paperback Typewriter (continued)

30 Jan

Paris is lovely mid-spring (I hear it’s kind of dumpy in autumn). The place was just oozing with inspiration. The narrow roads and lumpy cobblestones made my thighs ripple through my skinny jeans. The general populace glistened perpetually in a resin of lard and butter. Aside from the prostitutes and their syphilis, I could see why Benjamin Franklin came so often.

I had my caffeine passport stamped in all of the city’s most renowned cafes. Though the basic function of the establishments was the same, the difference between a coffee shop in New York and these was remarkable. Here, the coffee was Parisian. The attitude was Parisian. The people spoke Parisian. To the casual observer, it might have appeared as a similar situation as when a Midwestern tourist eats at an Applebee’s in Times Square because it’s much different from theirs back home. But to a connoisseur of places in which you sit around all day and think about writing like me, the difference was palpable.

Amidst the oohing and aahing and gawking, I finally remembered the purpose of my journey and spent some time with my typewriter. As I noisily churned through paper, I noticed that I was not the only writer in my coffee establishment du jour. But, instead of a typewriter, these people used a different device. The keys were recessed into an aluminum body, and the typebars were nowhere to be found. And there was no paper. The letters were struck into a dynamic electronic screen, which could then be adjusted as the user saw fit.

This thing was a miracle! One could write a piece, and make as many hard copies as he wished! He could backspace and move text around and look at funny cats while he worked. A dream come true!

I knew in that instant this newfangled machine would be the inspiration for my next work. So, wrested from the tedium of typewriter-dom and ushered into the space age, I packed up my computer and headed back home.

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