I didn't take any further photos at the laundromat this evening. I fucking love that place! I dislike staggering to and from work with a bag of dirty clothes- though there's something so romantically blue-collar about it!- but the laundromat itself is a bastion of poetry. the orange and yellow walls, the potted plants, the incredibly nice owners who are always there, always cleaning, always smiling. they don't make me feel like a white-trash piece of shit, and I appreciate that tremendously. i played with my phone while george and laura bush simpered under closed-captioning on the mounted television. a kid with a Mohawk, a girl with pink hair, a lady with bags of baby socks, an old man pacing out front with a cigarette. a large woman in a full-length fur coat and feathery fedora arrived soon after I did. she used about 6 machines to wash her various 4'x6' rugs. my wash ended and she was standing right there while I transferred my laundry to the dryer. underwear fell. she picked it up, handed it to me, and giggled.
I now have exactly 15 days of clean laundry, not counting work garb.
-Arctic Blvd. one of the best things ever.
-Valley o' the Moon.
-TURN IT OFF.
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