Olivander visits a dark alley

I bought a set of typewriter keys today. Just the keys. From a…a…keychopper. I feel so dirty. This must be how Republicans feel when they get caught by vice cops in airport bathroom stalls. Is it wrong to patronize one of the denizens of typewriting’s sleazy underbelly if the goal is to restore another typewriter? It wasn’t a collectible or particularly old typewriter. A late-’60s Montgomery Ward model whose keys happen to be identical matches for an Olivetti Valentine’s.

Afterward, I saw all the other sets of keys the person was selling. Perfect, round, chromed keys, looking at me like puppies in a mill as I walk away with one of their siblings inside my coat.

I’m going to hell for sure.