I had extra laundry to do this week, so I went to the local laundromat. The setting is a strange, yet predictable mix of abandoned/functional, bright/depressing, connected/dispossessed, inhabited/forgotten.
I didn’t have anything else to do but notice details. I noticed that everything in there is from the 60s and 70s. It felt like a movie set. I wondered if Bob Dylan or Woody Guthrie wrote songs in places like this.
The floors were clean and all the equipment worked. I was confused by the bars on some of the windows and the security gates that close the place in at night. Who comes here at night? My son and I were the only people there when it was open.
My son brought a stack of books to read. He probably learned something. I, however, was only occupied with ruminations. I wondered when tiles went missing and who decided to never replace them–and yet it was clean. Someone cared, and someone didn’t care.