1.0Birth, Death & Imaginationhttps://www.louisfcuffari.com/memoirLouis F. Cuffarihttps://www.louisfcuffari.com/memoir/author/louisfcuffari/Pen, Paper & Pay Phonesrich600338<blockquote class="wp-embedded-content" data-secret="PSlqPBFkPx"><a href="https://www.louisfcuffari.com/memoir/2024/05/pen-paper-pay-phones/">Pen, Paper & Pay Phones</a></blockquote><iframe sandbox="allow-scripts" security="restricted" src="https://www.louisfcuffari.com/memoir/2024/05/pen-paper-pay-phones/embed/#?secret=PSlqPBFkPx" width="600" height="338" title="“Pen, Paper & Pay Phones” — Birth, Death & Imagination" data-secret="PSlqPBFkPx" frameborder="0" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" class="wp-embedded-content"></iframe><script type="text/javascript">
/* <![CDATA[ */
/*! This file is auto-generated */
!function(d,l){"use strict";l.querySelector&&d.addEventListener&&"undefined"!=typeof URL&&(d.wp=d.wp||{},d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage||(d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage=function(e){var t=e.data;if((t||t.secret||t.message||t.value)&&!/[^a-zA-Z0-9]/.test(t.secret)){for(var s,r,n,a=l.querySelectorAll('iframe[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),o=l.querySelectorAll('blockquote[data-secret="'+t.secret+'"]'),c=new RegExp("^https?:$","i"),i=0;i<o.length;i++)o[i].style.display="none";for(i=0;i<a.length;i++)s=a[i],e.source===s.contentWindow&&(s.removeAttribute("style"),"height"===t.message?(1e3<(r=parseInt(t.value,10))?r=1e3:~~r<200&&(r=200),s.height=r):"link"===t.message&&(r=new URL(s.getAttribute("src")),n=new URL(t.value),c.test(n.protocol))&&n.host===r.host&&l.activeElement===s&&(d.top.location.href=t.value))}},d.addEventListener("message",d.wp.receiveEmbedMessage,!1),l.addEventListener("DOMContentLoaded",function(){for(var e,t,s=l.querySelectorAll("iframe.wp-embedded-content"),r=0;r<s.length;r++)(t=(e=s[r]).getAttribute("data-secret"))||(t=Math.random().toString(36).substring(2,12),e.src+="#?secret="+t,e.setAttribute("data-secret",t)),e.contentWindow.postMessage({message:"ready",secret:t},"*")},!1)))}(window,document);
/* ]]> */
</script>
I love the smell of turpentine in the morning, my lunches were always insulated in laboratory film bags, and the lithography of an aristocratic dwarf still frequents my dreams. Raised by an artist, these were the stipulations of a proper childhood. Just a miniature lonley thing, stowed behind a vast residential wall. What wasn’t vast […]