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The laundromat sits at the undercorner of an overpass, an intersection of busy roads and amongst the dead remains of abandoned factories and fast food chains.
You go there every couple of nights. Usually you’re alone, but sometimes you’re not.
You go there every couple of nights. Usually you’re alone, but sometimes you’re not.
Elderly Louis is in tonight.
She says the devil is here. That the devil has ears on his hands so when he draws you in closer, he can listen to the darkest whispers of your heart.
You ask her if you can use some of her detergent. She only lets you after you show her your palms.
She says the devil is here. That the devil has ears on his hands so when he draws you in closer, he can listen to the darkest whispers of your heart.
You ask her if you can use some of her detergent. She only lets you after you show her your palms.
Peter always said every door was a portal. Every portal led you closer to home. Whatever home was.
The laundromat is empty when you arrive, quiet except for a low humming. You count the seconds. A machine clicks off. You sigh, walk up to the washer and let Peter out.
The laundromat is empty when you arrive, quiet except for a low humming. You count the seconds. A machine clicks off. You sigh, walk up to the washer and let Peter out.
Monday nights are usually the busiest.
It’s when Ellie comes in and takes control of ever third machine. She doesn’t fill them either. Just a sock in one and a pair of pants in the other. You asked her about it once.
She says that all the noise makes a ballad to dance to.
It’s when Ellie comes in and takes control of ever third machine. She doesn’t fill them either. Just a sock in one and a pair of pants in the other. You asked her about it once.
She says that all the noise makes a ballad to dance to.
On Friday, the electronic sign says they raised the price. Instead of 25¢, it’s 50¢.
You’re unhappy about the situation but no angrier than Jacob who decides to throw his bloody sheets into an open washer and light it on fire. He gives you his extra quarters, which is nice.
You’re unhappy about the situation but no angrier than Jacob who decides to throw his bloody sheets into an open washer and light it on fire. He gives you his extra quarters, which is nice.
“Weren’t you here yesterday?” A stranger asks. He must be new.
You tell him you had another load you forgot to take with you.
“You must have nothing really going on in your life,” the stranger says. Offensive, but not an unreasonable point.
“This right here is a lot.”
You tell him you had another load you forgot to take with you.
“You must have nothing really going on in your life,” the stranger says. Offensive, but not an unreasonable point.
“This right here is a lot.”
It’s raining.
The laundromat’s lights are off and the door is locked. It’s unusual, but you suppose the weather will save you a bit of coin.
Liam, the owner, watches you from the inside, body presses against the door and mouth agap, sucking on the glass.
You wave back.
The laundromat’s lights are off and the door is locked. It’s unusual, but you suppose the weather will save you a bit of coin.
Liam, the owner, watches you from the inside, body presses against the door and mouth agap, sucking on the glass.
You wave back.
“Is this machine taken?” You ask Beth.
She shakes her head, caught between her dream and reality. She looks at you, then the dryer.
“No, I’m about finished,” she says, opening it and emptying nothing into her hamper.
You thank her and proceed to put nothing in yourself.
She shakes her head, caught between her dream and reality. She looks at you, then the dryer.
“No, I’m about finished,” she says, opening it and emptying nothing into her hamper.
You thank her and proceed to put nothing in yourself.
It’s late when you enter the laundromat. Later than usual.
There’s a You, already standing there, slowly loading the machine. That You, the You of 8pm, gives you a nod.
You’re unsure how to handle this so you head towards the machines in the opposite side of the room.
There’s a You, already standing there, slowly loading the machine. That You, the You of 8pm, gives you a nod.
You’re unsure how to handle this so you head towards the machines in the opposite side of the room.
A man sits at the end of the bench, silently watching the turn of a machine. You notice the mismatch clothing, the ill fitting slacks, the different colored socks.
“She was right,” you say as the stranger turns to you, palms bare and listening. “You really do come here.”
“She was right,” you say as the stranger turns to you, palms bare and listening. “You really do come here.”
Some beautiful art by @coquiwi! The details they choose to focus on has me 
[RT the original!]
https://twitter.com/coquiwi/status/1276231353542029317?s=21 https://twitter.com/coquiwi/status/1276231353542029317
[RT the original!]
https://twitter.com/coquiwi/status/1276231353542029317?s=21 https://twitter.com/coquiwi/status/1276231353542029317
