I lost my keys and Alex has been getting a new piano lock, so I have been spending a lot of time in the key-cutters. They smell so good, like burnt metal and antique bookspines and the soles of people's shoes.
Tattoo a mortice to her wrist so she will ever have her keys to hand. She's been locked outside
three days this week, banished to the kerb until the boys came home. Bind her to the
fob or just seize her up the stairs like Rapunzel, pull the dead bolt close. She's been running around
on fleeted feet, round this small town, and you're mortified. You'd better padlock your baby down.