My handwriting is notoriously bad. Teachers told me during elementary school years and no amount of sincere effort improved my penmanship. I was relieved at the age of 14 to inherit a manual typewriter; I don’t recall why the family owned one or how it came to be in my possession but the thing became my go-to for homework and personal writings. If I rightly recall, Royal was the brand.

I will always be fond of typewriters, even if my typing long ago transitioned to computer keyboard. The appeal grows with age and nostalgia for archaic technology. So I was both delighted and disappointed to see that someone left an old L.C. Smith model in a nearby alley—and I don’t recall which one. As you can see, this old machine is rusted and presumably beyond meaningful repair—although the thang would fit properly on appropriate movie set showing decay and dystopia.