Found this song on a playlist title "what falling inlove feels like" and this melody does capture that helpless sensation of getting soft for someone

I'm actually a typist, and I find their keystrokes a little distracting. Thinking, "Did I type an extra letter or number?" Music's nice and soothing once the keystrokes stop. Nice job!

I love the typewriter too, nostalgia!

I just found this, and I wanted to say thanks. I'm a burgeoning mystery writer. I'm currently working on my first manuscript as a part of my MFA program. I have a homicide detective who is training the newest detective in his unit. She's a pain in the ass, and he's just an ass. Together their like oil and water. But there is something deeper between them, that neither is expecting. I could really use something solomn for crime scenes, like when they arrive at a new body.

This is EXCELLENT THANK YOU

This is awesome!

The click-clack of the typewriter keys echoed through the dimly lit newsroom as I pieced together the story of Joe Gallo's murder. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, mingling with the scent of stale coffee. But amidst the chaos of the bustling news office, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. Jim, stood beside me, fidgeting with unease. His normally jovial demeanor had vanished, replaced by a mask of nervous tension. I shot him a curious glance, my fingers hesitating over the keys. What could have rattled Jim so profoundly? With a sudden urgency, he reached for the telephone and dialed a number. His voice was hushed, words barely audible above the din of the newsroom. Whoever he was speaking to seemed to elicit both fear and desperation from him. I watched as he hung up the phone, his hand trembling, and then abruptly left the room. Curiosity gnawed at me like a relentless rat, gnashing its teeth against my insides. My gut told me that there was more to Jim's behavior than met the eye. Ignoring the unfinished article before me, I decided to follow him. With swift, determined steps, I trailed Jim through the labyrinthine corridors of the news office. My heart pounded in my chest, mingling with the sounds of distant printers and the distant chatter of reporters. As I turned a corner, careful to remain in the shadows, my eyes widened in astonishment. There, standing in the secluded corner of the building, was none other than Joe Gallo himself-the very man I had seen lifeless in the morgue not a week ago.

Love ❤

Am I in Sam Spade's world or a less frightening version of Twin Peaks?

Would it be possible for me to use some of the music on this channel in my film?

Alright...who placed a webcam in my study? I had no idea I was being filmed. And here I thought I had some privacy...