When she finished typing, I would carefully place the pages into a large manila envelope. We would then walk upstairs and climb into a rattling Pinto, which she would drive through deserted streets across the east end of Louisville, Ky., eventually pulling up at the storefront that housed the neighborhood weekly newspaper. I would jump out and slide the envelope into the mail slot. I would return to the car to find her sitting at the wheel with her eyes closed. I used to think she was deep in thought.

Source: Los Angeles Times May 13, 2018 09:56 UTC