Filmotype Lucky -

Arthur Farrow, seventy-four years retired, sat on a creaking stool before a machine that looked like a love letter written in chrome and Bakelite. The . It was his. He’d bought it at an auction in 1987 for fifty dollars when the typesetting shop that owned it went digital. Everyone else had wanted the Linotype. Arthur had wanted the ghost.

Arthur. I proofread my life. No errors. I’m sorry it took sixty years to set the record straight. Come to Chicago. Bring the machine. We have a darkroom here too. filmotype lucky

Clack. Whirrr. Expose.