I got up really early and went to the gym on Sunday. On my way back, puce-faced from 45 mins on the elliptical, avec salt bagels - one toasted with Nova schmear, one untoasted with butter - I heard a teaser on NPR. "What do you do when your beloved typewriter breaks?" I said to the radio waves, "Take it to the Flatiron Building!" There's a little hovel of an office with floor to ceiling, nut to butt, ass over tea kettle typewriters in various stages of disrepair on the 8th floor - the same floor where Ray works when in the city. On the day I came to visit Ray's office for the first time, we passed this guy's repair shop door (always open apparently). I was fascinated. I wondered what that guy's story was. Ray said he'd been there since the dawn of time, fixing the typewriters like some sort of Remington savant.
NPR comes back on after a short break and they repeat the question, "What do you do when your beloved typewriter breaks? Well in New York City, you take it immediately to the 8th floor of the Flatiron Building!"
I squealed. I felt in-the-know. I felt a part of the NY circle.