Mickey is a freak – even he knows it. He has red hair – not the sexy strawberry blonde kind – more an Orangutan orange! His sloping shoulders lead to a skinny frame and milky skin. His face is pockmarked from many old pimples that he couldn’t stop picking. His job is a dead-end. He is desperate. He has no girlfriend, an insignificant past and no future. And his lift doesn’t go all the way to the top – if you know what I mean.
Poking around other people’s junk that could become his treasure, he wrinkles his nose at the shitty smell. He finds it sitting in the garbage. It’s on top of a filthy, old quilt and he is drawn to it. Black and silver and sexy, an old-fashioned typewriter, it calls to him as he stares at it. He’s powerless to resist and immediately puts it in his rucksack of junk before one of the other collectors claim it. If he had known what he was getting into, he would have run. Far and fast.…