Spin Cycles

Buttocks push; breasts boast through non-existent crowds. A choreographed squall above the whir and clunk of loaded appliances. Hispanic girls acting out in a Laundromat. Hips gesture, hands stab and tussle with unwashed issues. I’m distracted by the overheated hum, can’t read the print of my paperback. Words run naked over yellow pages, sweat and lay down under a fierce fluorescence. Skimpy shorts and gang-inks. The porous sound of feral hormones seethes over some slight, branded onto a Facebook page. They flop onto the slatted bench produce a smart phone, scroll through pictures, moue and glower softening as baby shots are thumbed. Melting smiles, then they hold up the cell for me to see. When they get up the backs of their thighs are marked by the wooden seat. Washing spins on.