Your mother’s one minute glance inventory via sms of your things left over:
Hula Hoop
Half built fixie with purple crankset
Straightening iron
Cup of salt water in the corner of the room
Macbook that won’t sleep with your abandoned etsy site
Box of old hot topic clothes and Sleater-Kinney cds
La Perla lingerie (top, bottom, slip)
Cart of old books by Virginia Woolf, Henry James, Neruda, the Southern females, etc. 
Chipped NPR mug filled with brushes, Essie nail polish, floss
Table of little anime toys and figurines
Pile of sheet music and six journals filled with song lyrics, scribblings, architectural schemes, comic panels. 

“I’ll be passing through at the end of the month and i’d be interested in the roller skates, the vintage suitcases, the flute, the portable rice cooker, and the typewriter.”
“Leaving town?”
“Something like that. Did you hear from my mother?”
“Yeah. Don’t need any of that but you mentioned transcribing?”
“10 years. the pedal is in my car. I do it in real time while listening to NPR.”
“That works. How many hours?”
“Whatever you can come up with in a year. Sound good?”
“Seriously?”
“Sure. 10 years. TV. It’s mindless to me. Does the typewriter work well?”
“Mint. New ribbons. Olivetti 79’.”
“Perfect. I have a busy winter coming up.”
“Haha. Sure. So tomorrow evening perhaps?”
“Know of that taco dump on Ashland?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, by the way.”
“You’re gettting ripped off.”
“Ha. See you then.”
“Sounds good.”