Touch-typing

In a novel where the two main characters are the writer himself and a box of matches, other objects appear and are analized under the firelight…

Then, back in this living room, I position the chair and make sure my computer is plugged in, since its battery no longer holds a charge. I bought it for $250 from a used-computer store several weeks ago: once it was the sleekest and most desirable of black laptops, now it is practically junk. Someone, not me, has worn away the stippling on the space bar under the resting place of the right thumb, and the upright of the T is gone; I’ve changed the screen colors so that they display dark blue letters against a black background, almost illegible even in the dark, and when I’m ready to start typing I tip the screen towards me, so that it nearly grazes the tops of my prancing fingers. I’ve always liked the phrase touch-typing: I type by touch, staring at, or at least looking steadily at, the fire.

Baker’s novels are always full of details and little surprising actions about objects.