A grey November Sunday, time to get up and get the laundry done. His dryer quit about a year ago and the washer caved a couple months later. When things break, you do without. That's paraphrasing his personal mission statement for the new normal which has now become routine.
Laundromats aren't so bad, an interesting slice of life. He goes to one in the city. The smell is thick and green when he enters. Apparently watching the dryers spin is more interesting when you're high. He hasn't tried that yet. Anesthesia. We all scurry toward painlessness.
He is prideful today, embarrassed with riches. The feeling surprises him. It's the exact inverse of the previous shame he felt carrying in his broken-on-all-four-sides flimsy white plastic laundry basket every week.
Today he carries before him the Dura-Maid, two-bushel capacity, Maximo model in contemporary grey. It features reinforced color coordinated handles on all four sides. It holds his week's dirty laundry with ease - no trail of balled up socks in his wake this week. Not only that but it accommodates a gallon and a quarter of liquid detergent with no strain at all. His back will give out before the basket does.
His youngest son slaps him on the back imaginarily, "Great choice, Dad!" He thinks he could probably come out of a hurricane intact sleeping under this Bad Larry.
He pours the detergent in, loads the washer, slides the quarters in the slot in an unbroken rhythm. Maximo sits commandingly high upon a shelf. He resists the temptation to buff it with his shirt sleeve.
Small victories. Baby steps.
Laundromats aren't so bad, an interesting slice of life. He goes to one in the city. The smell is thick and green when he enters. Apparently watching the dryers spin is more interesting when you're high. He hasn't tried that yet. Anesthesia. We all scurry toward painlessness.
He is prideful today, embarrassed with riches. The feeling surprises him. It's the exact inverse of the previous shame he felt carrying in his broken-on-all-four-sides flimsy white plastic laundry basket every week.
Today he carries before him the Dura-Maid, two-bushel capacity, Maximo model in contemporary grey. It features reinforced color coordinated handles on all four sides. It holds his week's dirty laundry with ease - no trail of balled up socks in his wake this week. Not only that but it accommodates a gallon and a quarter of liquid detergent with no strain at all. His back will give out before the basket does.
His youngest son slaps him on the back imaginarily, "Great choice, Dad!" He thinks he could probably come out of a hurricane intact sleeping under this Bad Larry.
He pours the detergent in, loads the washer, slides the quarters in the slot in an unbroken rhythm. Maximo sits commandingly high upon a shelf. He resists the temptation to buff it with his shirt sleeve.
Small victories. Baby steps.
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