The old typewriter had a mind of its own. It sat in-front of the old transistor radio. And every time a piece of music was played it would type out the words of the songs. Or if it was a documentary or talk show it would transcribe all the words of the conversation. Of course I was the one who loaded the paper and watched it fly. Each day the stack of paper grew higher and higher. I switched the radio off now and then, and the typewriter fell silent too. It gave me a chance just to oil its parts. So that it wouldn’t miss a word. And it never did. Now I’ve left there’s no one to load the paper. And the typewriter sits jamming at the end of the line.