During my teens and still to my day, these typewriters bring back memories of friends planning acid-fueled road trips, aspirations of becoming well-travelled journalist, or just summers of drinking naty-ices and creating short stories. I for sure, never took part in those shenanigans, just making that clear. Just listened and called dibs on shotgun or the last piece of Arby's french fries.
It seems now that many hipsters have one of these typewriters in their Brooklyn homes. It makes me think, were we just teen-babies doomed to follow suit and transform into a hipster.
This short story makes absolutely no sense, and I have no idea why I incorporated the word hipster. Whatever.
But for those friends and foes that continue to write, this would be a great gift for a writer for yourself.
p.s. they also do repairs and have some rare to find ink tape.