Dirty Laundry

The door swings open and the pigeon scampers off in a frenzy, darting it's little peanut-skull around. I slowly swoop around the bird, making my way for the change machine, herding it back towards the door... maybe somebody will let it out... it's fairly quiet in here today... I'll be back in thirty minutes... Back at the house, I scarf down the remains of a salad previously prepared and mostly devoured... a few chunks of apple, tomato, and serrano pepper, all smeared in balsamic blue cheese dressing...

...This time the pigeon's in full flight, and the kids are chasing it around the place, laughing like mad... I empty my wet clothes into a cart and wheel it to the opposite end, loading it into two separate dryers... so that it dry's faster... 4 quarters in each dryer... and now the place is packed, bustling with activity... with kids running all over, a frenzied pigeon, a slew of drunkards and chucklers over in the corner; a guy in a wheel-chair, slouched back with a sinister grin on his face, and those crazed, drunken people gathered 'round him---they're all whispering in undertones, darting their eyes around, stumbling slowly, hunching up their shoulders and scowling in general, snickering from time to time---as I'm heading for the exit, the pigeon darts around my head, frantically seeking refuge from the children, and I spot a couple kids licking Cheetos off the filthy table, it's linoleum top having been stripped off, revealing the porous particle board below, dingy with crusted grime of the past 30 years, and I chuckle to myself as I leave, thinking of kids, and their filthy ways.

When I get back, the scowling louts in the corner of the room are shouting at each other, saying things like 'I'll fuck you up', and the like. A woman blocks my path with a concerned expression on her face and she says something to me, but I don't speak Spanish. I get to the dryers where I'd deposited my clothes previously, and there's only clothes in one of them. 'What the fuck?' is what I'm thinking, all befuddled, as I unload the one dryer, and wonder if I'm going insane. 'Did I even put the clothes in two dryers?' I check all the dryers in the joint, thinking that maybe my brain couldn't retain the location of my clothes for 30 minutes, but they aren't in any dryers... they're gone. 'Maybe a bum snagged em?' Scanning the the place, I close in on the commotion in the corner, with all those loons, and the creep in the wheel-chair. An old woman, short and misshapen, puffy eyes and a dazed expression, is loading my clothes into a garbage bag. I head over there saying, 'those are my clothes', but she just keeps stuffing them into her garbage bag, like she never heard me. It's a God-damned spectacle; the drunks shouting profanities at each other, snarling... the old bastard leaning back in his wheel-chair with an sly smirk on his wrinkly snout... this woman, crazily loading my clothes into the bag, oblivious to myself who just weaved through all these madmen to get her attention... and we're all crammed into the corner of the lousy laundry-mat. I see the pigeon lazily pecking Cheeto crumbs from the tiles under the filthy tables, bobbing it's head like a toy, detached from the whole proceedings, unaware of the insignificant human exchange before him. I start snatching up my clothing out of her black garbage bag and grab most of my shirts and pants, and now these fucking maniacs around me are shoving each other and yelling violently, anger spilling from their minds, and the woman who stole my clothes is gently whispering, 'don't worry about them, they aren't mad at you... just get your clothes', and that's all I'm doing, but some of my clothes are mixed in with hers, and she's apologizing as I snatch what I can and stride out the damn door, forfeiting most all my socks, and one of the drunks, a woman, chuckles at me as I leave with a knowing grin, and the blood covering her teeth really highlights the insanity in her smile.... they can keep the damn socks!