“What I don’t do any more is confuse trusting somebody with handing them the thing that lets me leave.”

She wrote it down.

I do not think it made the piece.

I lock the front door of my father’s house every night at about eleven.

For the first year that was a whole procedure — the door, then the back, then the basement, then the door again, then the alarm, then the door once more, and sometimes the whole circuit twice, and once, in the bad August, four times.

Now it is a door.