from The Story of My Typewriter
By Paul Auster
We have been together for more than a quarter of a century now.
Everywhere I have gone, the typewriter has gone with me. We
have lived in Manhattan, in upstate New York, and in Brooklyn.
We have traveled together to California and to Maine, to Minnesota
and to Massachusetts, to Vermont and to France. In that time, I have
written with hundreds of pencils and pens. I have owned several cars,
several refrigerators, and have occupied several apartments and houses.
I have worn out dozens of pairs of shoes, have given up on scores of
sweaters and jackets, have lost or abandoned watches, alarm clocks,
and umbrellas. Everything breaks, everything wears out, everything
loses its purpose in the end, but the typewriter is still with me.
It is the only object I own today that I owned twenty-six years ago.
In another few months, it will have been with me for exactly
half my life.
