I Know the Code to His Garage
Six digits. Changed monthly. He changes it for me in person every time his wife visits her mother.
Side door. No driveway cameras. Six beeps and I'm in his workshop smelling sawdust and sin.
She thinks he's building shelves. Shelves can wait.
I leave no trace except once—a lipstick I blamed on a contractor.
New code last week. He whispered it like a love poem. I memorized. I hate that I memorized.
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