" He walked over to a small book-lined room and peered in."Is this your office?"She joined him."Only when I'm paying bills. Otherwise, it's my writing...chamber."The room featured a large, sturdy desk upon which sat an almost equallysturdy electric typewriter. He stepped in, and looked around to confirmhis supposition."No computer."She snorted at the seeming absurdity."Where would I have room for one?"Al tried to give her a glimpse of his world."The kind I'm thinking of would take up about as. He had been a middling student, earning As in the courses he enjoyed, and Cs in those he did not. He had been in band, and just as he was in everything else, he had flown under the radar. He was a steady, not spectacular musician, and he doubted he would play much after high school.He had never tried to play organized sports, but enjoyed playing softball and football with his classmates on the sandlots and grassy fields at the community park down the road from his house. He was athletic enough. More

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