Squeezing Out One Last Story

For this post I have disconnected my keyboard and I have wired up my old typewriter directly to the computer.

See, right off you think I’m kidding, but look at these letters.  This is it.  It is actually working.  It may be an antique but I love the sound it makes as I type.  It reminds me of some old newspaper reporter banging away to get the story out on time.  It isn’t at all like that clickity, clickity sound of the plastic keyboard.  This sounds substantial.

Anyway, now that I’ve got it working… What to type?

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, too tedious.

I was taking a shower and had to once again turn the knob to adjust the temperature to be not quite so hot when suddenly someone knocked on the bathroom door.  You can imagine how startled I was.  I live alone and my apartment door was locked and chained.

Someone was not out in the hall ringing my doorbell; they were already inside my apartment and knocking on my bathroom door.

I didn’t know what to do.  Do I call out and ask who it is?  Do I ignore them, grab a towel and try to climb out of the window before they just come barging in?

Was I going to need a weapon?  I looked at the counter.  There was a comb, a can of deodorant, toothpaste and a rather substa

 Sorry. It looks like my connection to the typewriter either came loose or something.  

Oh well, maybe it was a dumb thing to try.