The shelf

Everything I’ve written up, newest first. Under each one is the line as that machine first typed it, before I’d touched a thing.

• No. 15

  The t still sits a hair high

  Underwood standard, from the garage across the street. Eleven evenings. November 7, 2026.

  

• No. 14

  Capitals riding high

  Smith-Corona Skyriter, from a woman at church, in a grocery sack. Three evenings. October 18, 2026.

  

• No. 13

  A space it didn’t earn

  Remington Quiet-Riter, from an estate sale outside Zephyrhills. Six evenings. September 27, 2026.

  

• Bench note

  What the garage did to No. 2

  A note, not a machine. August 29, 2026.

  

• No. 12

  Red feet

  Hermes 3000, from a thrift store in Brooksville. Two evenings. July 26, 2026.

  

• No. 11

  Everything rubber had quit

  Olympia SM3, from a church rummage sale in Zephyrhills. Seven evenings. June 21, 2026.

  

• Bench note

  Cleaning type, and what stays in the garage

  A note, not a machine. May 16, 2026.

  

• No. 10

  Fishing line and five turns

  Smith-Corona Silent-Super, from a neighbor, two doors down. Three evenings. April 12, 2026.

  

• No. 9

  It’s never the faint letter

  Royal Quiet De Luxe, from an estate sale in Dade City. Four evenings. March 7, 2026.

  

Before the journal

Nos. 1 through 8 came before I started writing things down. No. 1 is a case with nothing in it; that’s where the name comes from. No. 2 is the Royal in the note about the garage. No. 3 has my dental-pick scratch across its b, and No. 4 lost the corner of a decal to rubbing alcohol. No. 6 is the Remington on the desk. Nos. 5, 7, and 8 are two Smith-Coronas and an Underwood portable that work and that I have nothing to say about, which is the best kind of typewriter.