The row on row of IBM Selectrics clacking the smell is still with me hanging like the memory of disappointment 3rd period typing. The dot com bubble still a decade or more away why the hell would I want to learn to type? I wanted to be a boss not a slave. To be young again.
What is best in life? He bellowed the question, and the answer is simple: the smell of fresh brewed coffee the taste of bananas from a bowl of Cheerios the delicate crunch of warm buttered toast this is what is best in life, Conan.
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