The inmate had been in prison for well over 40 years and what healed him, softened him, guided him was a tiny old Smith Corona typewriter. He typed letters to his son who only knew him through a glass wall. He typed legal motions for himself and others all praying for a legal exit. He typed songs and poems when he couldn't sleep. When he showed up at the library he was teared up like a child.
"You have internet searches here. That's what they tell me."
"Yes I am permitted to search things for the men here."
The line that usually formed for the librarian dismantled at the sight of this man. There was a respect he carried not from any force or power, but instead from the way he did his time.
"My typewriter is broken and I need to send it out to be fixed. Nobody fixes them, I need to find someone that fixes old typewriters. I can't buy a new one from the catalog I can't use them word processor typewriters."
The librarian surfed the internet and explained to the man what he was seeing. They found someone in New York that handled everything for Smith Corona. A man that only fixed typewriters. They spent more than an hour writing down the information. The inmate nodded and explained what he would do.
His son would call the man for him and let him know it was coming. He would move up his request through property with candy bars and favors. He would be able to get his typewriter sent out within the week which is unheard of in Prison.
He left the office wiped his eyes and turned to the librarian. He placed a bag of coffee on his desk.
"I can't take that. Besides it is my job to help you."
The man stared at him and the officer motioned to just leave the coffee be. It was beyond what the librarian understood. The inmate left, he would go back to his cell and wait for his typewriter to reappear.