He scraped the key back and forth in the lock again. Nothing. He rubbed the tip of his nose with the side of his finger and looked at his watch. Humph. Seventeen minutes. The first minute was annoying, the next four – irritating. The ten after that were demoralizing.

It shouldn’t be this hard! He had the key. He was in front of the door. Sure, the lock might be a bit old. Used many times? No doubt.

He took the key out of the lock and rubbed it on his pants, then between his fingers. He prayed. Again. Skritch skritch . . . faster, then slower . . . skritch skritch skritch. He pulled the key out, dropping as he did so. His fingers scraped on hard cement as he retrieved it from the step. Sighing, he put it in his pocket and started down the stairs.

This wasn’t the first time he’d worked to get through the door, but maybe it should be his last. He was tired. Disconsolate, truth be told. He glanced over his shoulder and stopped.

Once more. Just once more, then he would leave. For good, this time. He trudged back up the stairs, inserted the key, and . . . click. It turned like new. No. Really? Really. He turned the knob and opened the door.

It is labour indeed that puts the difference on everything.     

Image: Wikipedia.org; Quote: John Locke