Write four lines of prose which take place at: the laundromat.
Work went pretty smoothly. Place pretty much emptied out at 8:30, so I just had to deal with a door that didn't want to lock and one guy in the weight room who just couldn't seem to stop working out.
It all got sorted out in the end. Gonna try to get some sleep tonight before taking the family up to Penticton tomorrow to run some errands.
Fascinating places, laundromats. A public place where people willingly bring their smelly, filthy clothes, for all to see, in order to clean them, while being surrounded by others doing exactly the same. What an odd brotherhood of squalor and mystery stains which, as if by an unspoken rule, go unquestioned.
I would shun these places of business quite entirely if I wasn't so regularly in need of affordable wardrobe changes... oh hello, this fellow looks about my size!