domo ari-gato

An hour and a half and a roll of quarters means my laundry is done—six loads total. Its taken practice, but I’ve got it down to a science. I know exactly which machines wash the fastest and which dryers dry the fastest. The Japanese man who owns the laundry mat knows me as “doctor.” He thinks I’m a doctor because I always wash a load of periwinkle scrubs. Explaining to him is vain.

“I am a student. I only work at a hospital as a tech. I am not a doctor.”

“Oh very nice. You work today?”

“Yes I worked today. I work everyday except Sunday. Just like you.”

“Oh very nice. You a very good doctor.”

Tonight I wasn’t in a hurry. It almost seemed pointless to me to hurry. Why should I hurry? I have nothing else to do tonight except my laundry. What does it matter that I finish in an hour and a half if I am only on my way back to an empty apartment to stare at my pale yellow walls? Maybe I should slow down, take my time and finish that book I’ve been reading for the past six months. Sometimes I read a book just to feel the pages run between my fingers. Justin once asked me what was my favorite sense? I lied to him and told him it was sight. It wasn’t a conscious lie, it was just the first thing that came out of my mouth. No sooner had I said it that I knew I had meant to say touch. The evening was spent touching my book and looking at my laundry spinning and spinning in the dyer. It took me one hour and about 37 minutes. Now I am just staring at my pale yellow walls.