Filmotype Lucky ((new)) -

“It’s a composer,” he’d replied. “No computer. No logic. Just light and chemistry.”

Then he went to the filing cabinet in the corner. He pulled out a folder. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded twice. He’d found it in his mailbox yesterday, no return address, postmarked Chicago. It was a letter, typed not on a computer, but on something with uneven spacing and slightly misaligned letters. He recognized the quirks immediately: the heavy ‘a,’ the quirky ‘r.’ filmotype lucky

Tonight, he wasn't setting type for a job. He was setting a story. “It’s a composer,” he’d replied

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. Just light and chemistry

Clack. Whirrr. Expose.