My key didn’t fit the lock.
I stood on the porch of my own house at 1847 Sycamore Bend, holding a duffel bag and a gas station coffee that had gone cold somewhere around Sapulpa, and I tried the key twice more because that’s what you do. You try the thing that isn’t working one more time, as though repetition might convince a deadbolt to reconsider.continue reading …
