|Prompt: It was now lunch time and they were all sitting under the double green fly of the dining tent pretending that nothing had happened.
“I still can’t believe you did it,” Mindy blurted out in the awkward silence.
“Since I DID do it, what you believe is irrelevant,” Roger replied, calmly setting aside his coffee. “And anyway, when did you start objecting to antique typewriters?”
“I think the point is you shouldn’t have taken it,” Brody said. He ran his fingers through his brown hair and looked at a car driving past. “The thing has a bit of a history, you know.”
“Yeah. That’s why I bought it,” Roger said. “I can’t believe the lady sold it for only 50 bucks! Especially if it’s the real thing.”
“That’s why I’m concerned,” Mindy said. “How do we know it’s real? And even if it is, we’ve all heard the stories-”
“You really believe a typewriter could cause all that trouble?” Roger asked incredulously. “Just because it belonged to George III-”
“Who was mad,” Mindy pointed out.
“Oh, there are plenty of insane people with typewriters!” Roger said irritably. “Just look at Hemingway!”
“Hey!” Brody said. “Don’t diss the old man just because he writes better than you.”
“My point is,” Mindy interrupted, “what if the story is true? What if everyone who uses it does go mad?”
“Then you better buy me a straight-jacket. I have a future classic novel to write,” Roger said.
He awoke the next morning more confused than a penguin lost in the Caribbean. He was slumped over the keys of the typewriter completely naked, except for the purple swimming trunks wrapped around his neck like a scarf.
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