Imagine a delicate spring evening with a light breeze blowing over the conduit, and both of you, essentially both of you having the most wistful dinner after your marriage. As you toast to a great and sturdy married life and jump into the succulent ribs and hacks and whatever else is left of the toll that has been spread before you for the night, you suspect that life couldn't get any better.
On your way back, you drop by the pastry shop and relish in their latest delight as you feel that one of the best ever nights has touched base at a sweet end, and you and your assistant head back home.
You stop your car and take the lift to the gateway of your seventeenth floor hang, and that is when disaster strikes! You had failed to get your condominium keys before you went to dinner. What you thought to be your most nostalgic night has now harshly transformed into the most exceedingly awful ever.
Be it a condition this way or be it some other situation, like a little child at home who accidentally jolts the gateway behind without comprehension of its repercussions, a lockout is not a likelihood that is outside the areas of bleeding edge living.