I chose the cheapest pair of everything.

Old habits are stubborn.

Her house smelled of cinnamon and printing ink.

There was a guest room with yellow curtains and a reading lamp.

She showed me the bathroom, told me where the spare towels were, and handed me a key.

“You can lock this door if you want privacy,” she said.

“But you won’t ever need a key to get back inside this house.”

I stood with the little brass key in my palm for a long time.