Vintage, smooth, light and grey. Very grey. And very smooth. And oily. It may stain. But, oh!, those keytops! All in order, layer by layer, all upright as during attendance, they are waiting for the magic to come. Fingertips, are you ready? Eyes, did you find the letters? Nose, can you please stop smelling that funny grease? Mouth, shut up, it's not your turn. Let expectation take control, it may not know where it will lead but it knows that it will be music. All the typebars are flashing, quickly, quickly, it's a melody, it's a symphony! It's the triumph of human dexterity, on the white page words appear one after the other, they make sense. Maybe they are the only things that make sense. Words. Music. And a typewriter, sure!