Wednesday, June 15, 2005

The Bloomington Street Laundromat

Everyone has a certain blankness here. Washing away memories, however minute, unimportant, fleeting... Not a drop of salsa on the blouse or a hint of that really hot night's sweat on the sheets. No poog drool left on the blankie from that one night he dreamt of chasin' rabbits. No dirt on the heel of that sock; the hole is still there, though.

There's a serene grimness to this place. People don't smile if they're alone. Or if they're not. The laundromat is the loneliest place in the world to cleanse yourself.

And on that note, when I buy a house, there WILL be a washer and dryer somewhere on the property.

I hear ya there! Its so depressing.
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