My uncle bought me a typewriter last year.
Uninspired and pockets empty, I grew frustrated with it and sold it for money that I spent on drugs.
I told him that it broke and that I sent it to get fixed, but they told me they couldn’t do anything so I didn’t want it back. I think he knew I was lying. We don’t talk much anymore.
He broke his leg and arm two weeks ago falling down the stairs of his apartment building, and nobody bothered telling me until today.
