It came to forty-one dollars and sixty-two cents.

I paid in cash from my wallet, which was the first time in five years I had handed over money without checking which statement it would show up on.

“You want keys cut for it?” He pulled a little blue machine out from under the counter.

“Two of them.

One for my father.”

He cut them, tested each one in the lock body sitting on the counter, and handed them across to me.

“Brass is soft.