give me that it's my dust-catcher

john9221

of
Rollerblades with scuffed toes and little purple pompoms on the tips of the laces.
The thing which caught and held my eye was sitting on the old roll-top desk in the center of the
room. During the many good summersfallsand winter weekends we had spent herethat desktop
would have been littered with spools of threadskeins of yarnpincushionssketchesmaybe a book
about the Spanish Civil War or famous American dogs. Johanna could be aggravatingat least to
mebecause she imposed no real system or order on what she did. She could also be dauntingeven
overwhelming at times. She was a brilliant scatterbrainand her desk had always reflected that.
But not now. It was possible to think that Mrs. M. had cleared the litter from the top of it and
plunked down what was now therebut impossible to believe. Why would she? It made no sense.
The object was covered with a gray plastic hood. I reached out to touch itand my hand faltered
an inch or two short as a memory of an old dream
(give me that it's my dust-catcher)
slipped across my mind much as that queer draft ad slipped across my face. Then it was gone
and I pulled the plasticover off. Underneath it was my old green IBM Selectricwhich I hadn't
seen or thought of in years. I leaned clos [link widoczny dla zalogowanych]yilai:
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