“His balance is just about perfect,” Derek said.

“He just needed room to try without anybody crowding him,” Michael said.

At one o’clock Michael pulled into the lot at the neighborhood hardware store.

The heavy glass doors slid open on their own.

The sharp smell of fertilizer and machine oil hung in the warm air inside.

Derek headed down the main aisle toward the key-cutting counter.

A teenager in a green canvas vest was behind the glass case sorting brass blanks.

“I need this deadbolt key copied twice,” Michael said.