A young girl leaned upon her elbows on the tawny desk. The surface felt cool towards her skin. Her feet dangled in the air off the edge of the old office chair, not noticing the worn out fabric pressing against the back of her thighs. The exhausted threads were barely holding together. She reached her small hands towards a machine in front of her. Her fingers explored the smooth, black, round, buttonlike objects with variations of white lines painted upon them, all lined up in perfect rows. She jerked back slightly by the surprising sound and the paper´s movement as her curiosity had led her to press one of them. A faint smile appeared on her lips and she pressed another one. And another one. And another one. Black ink splashed across the paper in forms she couldn’t yet understand. After it had been explained to her what the machine was used for, she would return to this peculiar toy many times in the near future. Even though she didn’t know what she was typing, the act of typing itself and the sound of the machine working beneath her fingertips made her feel important. As if she had something important to say.