“Don't fit,” she said. “This door's sealed up tight.” Lula gave the door a whack with the tire iron and the door swung open. “Will you look at this,” Lula said. “Have we got some luck, or what?” “I don't like it. They always lock up and set the alarm.” “They must have just forgot. It was a traumatic day.” “I think we should leave. This doesn't feel right.” “I'm not leaving without my sweater. I'm close now. I can hear my sweater calling to me. Soon's we get inside I'll switch on my Maglite, and you can work that gizmo that makes the clothes go around, and before you know it we'll be outta here.” We both took two steps forward, the door closed behind us, and Lula hit the button on the Maglite. We cautiously walked past the commercial washers and dryers and the large canvas bins that held the clothes. We stopped and listened for sirens, for someone else breathing, for the beeping of an alarm system ready to activate. “Feels okay to me,”
