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Other People’s Clothes
In the front load washer, I can see whites and darks and grays mixed together. The checked blue shirt, gym shorts with the single cinched drawstring, and the lacy number that may be a halter top. I look at your clothes like an alien species or as a xenophobe looks at their neighbor, considering him…
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I Can’t Write in a Laundromat
It seems like such a good idea. Lots of waiting. Lots of opportunity. No kids running around. It is socially acceptable to ignore the people around you. The laundromat seems like a fine place to write. For some reason, I can’t. My family has had to adjust to once again not having a washer and…