Laundromat
He was folding laundry at the laundromat around the corner from his apartment. Man my clothes are really taking a beating in these machines. I used to love this shirt. He studied a once pristine white shirt that was starting to take on a greyish tint. It has to be this place. I’m using the same detergent… The laundromat was incredibly neat considering the incompetent machines. The owner was a large man from one of the former Soviet countries. Sam wasn’t quite sure which one. He was always followed by the sound of tinkling quarters as he emptied the trays into his large paint bucket. It’s almost like he is afraid to leave them in there too long… Sam thought. Also, apparently his son is not allowed to handle the quarters.
The son, a skinny kid of about fifteen, was in charge of all things washing, mopping, sweeping, lint and trash removal. His work went from about five to close and all day Saturday and Sunday. And since Sam had started going to the laundromat, the two went about their duties in almost complete silence and Sam never saw any other employees.
