So tonight I am taking some time out of studying to look inside the tins of ink that came with my ‘eight five’, and some that I got as a freebie beforehand.
It’s weird, I don’t know what deep psychological wound in me makes me afraid to open the tins, but every time I am. This is irrational, I tell myself. If the ink is soft, that’s great, but I hardly assume it will be, after sitting for twenty years in a garage. (Some of it has ‘use by 1990’ printed on the side).
I might post a progress report. That’s if a plague of frogs doesn’t jump out of a tin 🙂
Frost in May 