I was house-sitting in a beautiful compound on Long Island Sound just up the coast from New Haven. House-sitting and working on a novel. The typewriter belonged to the house. Note beer can. Note backstage passes from the Clash and Squeeze. Note notebooks, folders, paper. Note photo of cast members from All My Children, a show I loved and found inspiring.
That year I was living in a haunted house in West Austin. I had a Smith-Corona typewriter—covered here, so maybe I wasn't writing so much at this time. The Smith Corona used a ribbon cartridge, and I see one of those on the desk. Beer bottles there, too—two Michelobes, a Coors, and two Miller High Lifes. (This was a bad time for beer in America, and I certainly drank a variety of bad beers). There’s some spray cleaner—Formula 409—along with what I think is a can of Lysol spray. Maybe a can of Love My Carpet, to cover the occasional Rugay pee. Paper towels, books (one I think might be a bible!), notebooks. There’s an empty milk bottle I used for a coin bank (the bank bottle lasted until I was living at Heathercrest and came home wildly drunk from a wedding where we were trying to imitate the vodka drinking scene from War & Peace and it somehow ended up smashed). The Johnny Walker Red was a gift from the late Mike Westlund, who at that time wasn't late.