Lynne Pickett

March 29, 2019

Trapdoor

It’s a death trap. Damn druggies, breaking the lock to count a pile of quarters they ripped off from the laundromat. The landlord will probably never fix this door. “Let me out. Let me out.” I can’t believe I’m stuck inside a vestibule—it’s definitely not a lobby; it’s hardly big enough for two people. I’m freezing in this old T-shirt—his old T-shirt. I could have at […]