unclaimed

"X sat looking at the door for a long while, then turned his chair around toward the writing table and picked up his portable typewriter from the floor. He made space for it on the messy table surface, pushing aside the collapsed file of unopened letters and packages. He thought if he wrote  letter to an old friend of his in New York there might be some quick, however slight, therapy in it for him. But he couldn´t insert his notepaper into the roller properly, his fingers were shaking so violently now. He put his hands down at sides for a minute, then tried again, but finally crumpled the notepaper in his hand.
He was aware that he ought to get the wastebasket out of the room, but instead of doing anything about it, he put his arms on the typewriter and rested his head again, closing his eyes."

For Esmé , with love and squalor - J.D.Salinger