padlock tender_square she wouldn’t use the padlock button on the keypad, because the battery-operated system made a grinding noise at it turned the deadbolt. so she slid the key into the door handle to twist the lock ninety degrees. lucky for her, their car was a hybrid and he wore earplugs to sleep, which made it unlikely that he’d recognize the engine as it coughed and hummed. she didn’t want the driver’s side door slam to give her away when their vehicle was parked outside their bedroom window, not ten feet from where he dreamt. she tried to get the door to hang loosely on its latch, but the car chirped a tattling alarm, would not let her shift to reverse—“driver door ajar” flashed in red above the steering wheel. somehow, she descended the hill ass first, both windshields covered in a layer of frost. she would not scrape them in the driveway, no. she’d drive a few houses away before she got out of the car to do it, looking all the while at the front door to see if he’d emerge, disheveled and wondering where the hell she took off to. she did a shit job with the windows; the good scraper was in the trunk and she was in a hurry, wanted as much time as she could manage alone at the park, needed enough buffer time to get home in the morning rush hour without him knowing. after creeping a block away, she pulled over and put the defrost on high, muttering “fuck” when the wiper blades wouldn’t strip the hoarfrost fast enough. she was losing valuable minutes. she kept waiting for a sudden call on her cell phone to startle her, she kept expecting her plans to be thwarted. she drove the three miles to the arboretum and had to park two blocks away. more minutes lost. she would not loiter on this journey like she did the last, and nearly twisted her ankle on loose gravel. she slowed herself, recognizing that she was alone, she was free. 220420 what's it to you? who go blather from