About two years ago walking around San Francisco I saw a woman sitting at a desk in front of an old typewriter.
A sign next to her on the sidewalk read “A word = two dollars”.
I sat down.
She looked at me.
Her: How can I help you?
Me: I’d like a word.
Her: OK. Tell me about yourself.
Me: Everything is changing nothing is in its place I know what’s right but I’m scared sometimes I want a word to remind me of that place that’s mine where I belong where I will always be safe I love words I can carry it with me I don’t know what else to say.
She takes a piece of paper, inserts it into the typewriter, types something, pulls it out and hands it to me. I pay her and leave.
A few blocks away I open it.