Worthy of a reblog. Beautiful. This one’s for all the writers out there.
Whap! Whap! Whap-whap-whap-whap-whap-whap-whap.
Ching! Click. Click. Fzzzzwinggg!
You could hear it through the whole villa. It was music. Sometimes I would just sit on the couch and sip my Lipton tea with milk and smoke a hand rolled and listen to him go. It was 2011, and using a typewriter seemed sadly clichéd – romantic, but clichéd.
But Kevin hauled his typewriter all the way to Saudi Arabia. And there’s nothing clichéd about that.
My old roommate Kevin Dean. He taught me how to roll cigarettes and started me reading The Paris Review. On most afternoons when we got back to our villa on the north side of Jeddah, just about 500 feet off a little inlet that jutted in from the Red Sea, he’d brew a pot of tea, we’d add a mound of sugar and some milk to it, roll up a couple pure tobacco cigarettes…
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