I stopped at the grocer's to pick up some salami and a loaf of bread, and then I went back to my apartment. I lived in a small, one-room flat in the Village. I'd migrated there because I wanted to be surrounded by creative people. I'd been surrounded by them for close to six months now, but none of it had rubbed off on me. I'd finally been forced to sell my old typewriter to pay the rent, so that finding this one today—and at the ridiculous price of five dollars—had really been a godsend.

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