You can find a certain satisfaction in looking through a peephole from inside a dead-bolted door.
You see them, but they can’t see you. You there, with your canned soda and bare feet, hold all the power between your thumb and forefinger. Will you un-throw the bolt, or won’t you? They’ll never know, because they can’t see you. Unless you do, you know, un-throw the bolt…
There’s no satisfaction to be found in locking someone else out of their own home with their own deadbolt and now you’re more than an hour away and couldn’t help them if you drove back up to Stroud and gave it your best shot, or your best flying leap through that back bedroom window you remember leaving unlocked the night that it rained and you were trying to find out if the coyotes were cuddling up under the eaves and you decided it was really, really cool that they weren’t, but then you found out the roosters were and you decided that really, really stunk, so you quickly shut the window and realized you needed to use the restroom really, really bad and FORGOT TO FLIP THE LOCKS.
But, you did remember to flush.
