City Speed Wash

That's the name of the Laundromat where Emily and I did our laundry last night. I haven't done laundry at the laundromat since my fifth year of college. Kind of an interesting place, the laundromat. A public place to do a pretty private thing--cleaning one's soiled garments. Piss, shit, vomit, cum, dirt, grime, grease--the stuff that makes up your everyday life (well hopefully you're not pissing or shitting yourself too often). The result of one's work during the week--wherever your body has been, so have the clothes on it.

And the wait, oh the wait. Black folk, white folk, Mexicans, and an Indian couple--all just looking around at each other twiddling their thumbs while their undergarments go throught the spin cycle. One young man chose to while away the minutes by playing some Samurai arcade game. The frequent pounds on the glass made it apparent that he wasn't much of a Samurai. I read the story in the September issue of Harper's. Emily read one of her books for class. Mostly though, people just sat around, talking softly or looking at their clothes in the dryer go round and round.

I don't know . . . it wasn't so bad. Gave me an excuse to brush shoulders with persons in my community that I might never see otherwise. In fact, maybe I'll go to church next week. Meet some people tryin' to get their souls laundered (that'd be a good devotional in Our Daily Bread, wouldn't it? Oh geez).

Word.