When the cafe banned laptops, Martin returned with a typewriter. By eleven, everyone knew when he finished a line.
The owner asked how long he planned to write.
Until lunch. Then I’m editing, Martin said.
The owner pointed at his second bag. How do you do that?….
Martin wrote at the same cafe every morning. He bought coffee, opened his laptop and stayed until lunch.
One Monday, the owner put a sign on the counter. No laptops. Make room for conversation.
Martin read it twice.
He asked whether it meant all laptops.
The owner said that was generally what no laptops meant.
On Tuesday, Martin arrived with a typewriter he’d found in the loft.
The owner pointed at the sign.
Martin pointed at the typewriter.
No screen. No battery. Doesn’t even need your electricity.
He bought coffee and began.
The keys clattered. At the end of the first line, the bell rang.
The woman beside him looked up.
Martin pushed the carriage back and began another line.
The owner turned up the music. Martin typed harder so he could hear whether the keys were sticking.
A couple moved to the other end of the room. The conversation the owner had hoped for began with complaints about the typing.
Martin ordered a second coffee. He said the morning was going well. He’d written three pages and nobody had emailed him.
The owner asked whether his story contained any quiet bits.
This is one, Martin said.
The bell rang again.
The owner looked at the clock. How long are you planning to do this?
Until lunch. Then I’ll work on the second draft.
Would that be quieter?
Martin put a hand on the large bag beside his chair.
The owner asked how he planned to edit pages from a typewriter.
With the shredder. This draft’s terrible.
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