The poetry of Gregg Typing, 1958, Pt. 1

As promised, the first of the typing textbook vignettes. Let us look back fondly at the small press instructional textbook editors who had delusions of artistic grandeur:


While the early dusk quickly faded into dark, the
squadron went on and on, a long file of shapes on
all sides of the horizon.  Somewhere above us was
the air escort; we could hear the distant whining
of the jets above the throb of our engines.  From
the big ship ahead of us came a flicker, a signal
for us to call up extra help for the night watch.


Ahhh. Nourishes the soul, it does.

P.S. This morning I was so busy taking a break from work to fold a damn peacock that I totally missed the onsale of Otto's tickets. Fortunately, they didn't sell too quickly and I was able to nab one. The origami is going pretty well though. I can actually follow directions like "valley fold a kite base."