What memories I have of you, for I stood there with my cheap magazine in hand 

under the fan with money in hand, calmly looking for my final escape. 

She holds the coins and sighs. 

What are you doing here tonight? 

Dreaming of sun-drenched walks in the fluorescent-lit 

hall, where puffs of dust disappear with each breath.

It’s drafty in here, but you seem cool, leaning against the churning machines

Do you ever get cold? 

She walks across the lint-lined aisles, past crumbled towels and faded detergent posters

Tide clean breeze for fresher, brighter-

You don’t use softener, why? 

Cups of suds in hand you dump gently into that little grey sink, so 

that’s what it’s for. 

I grabbed my tangle of clothes, messes of pants, shirts, oh hey

there’s 5 dollars in that pocket. 

You press each shirt into a square, balance socks between your long fingers,

pants two-folds, one stroke and they’re in my, her basket. 

I saw you walk in, she pushed the door with the curve of her hips. 

Where are you going after now, after this, after I saw you sip that dollar-fifty coke? 

Are we carrying our baskets of laundered cloth down the busy streets?

Walking through the door, the one with the bells and promises of

“Have A Good Day” and “Come Back Again.”

Dodging tourists, taxis, we’ll be alone, the world will move faster but we’ll be just fine. 

Atlas, my time is up, my clothes are clean and dry.