Launderette

No Drying Only. In any other business more machines would be installed to coin in the jangle. She had large eyes and lashes like a rabbit. Her auburn hair was tied back and decorated with a ribbon. Chipped Formica to fold your clothes and the smell of boredom that rises in a mist. Crusty plastic cups for detergent in stasis from the sixties. Notices stuck with yellowing tape remind me of final wash, and the price of a cup of powder. She watched her bed-spread turn in the drier. Time is measured out by clockwork controllers. I must have looked like a fresher who’d never seen a launderette before. Her help was warm to the touch. Gentle with the intricacies of powder, Straight-Six and, and safety locks on doors. The wallpaper was embossed with shells, nicotine and the fug of soap. She smiled as I stuffed my clothes into a dustbin bag.

– Benjamin F Jones
Advertisements

About Graphite Bunny

I am a writer working in South Wales (UK). I love pizza, photography and moist clay. When it rains I catch drops in my open mouth. I create poetry, flash, absurdist snapshots and humorous fiction.
This entry was posted in Humour, Prose, Scraplets and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s