Twelve Washers and No One
in the third dryer, a grey hoodie with a torn left sleeve. i lost one exactly like it.
This one goes to a heavy place. If you’d rather not read it tonight, that’s a fine choice — support resources are here.
the laundromat on the corner is open all night and i walk past it on the way back from the late shift. usually there's one person in there staring at their phone under the buzzing light. tonight every washer was running. all twelve. spinning full of clothes and not a single person inside, not even someone in the back. i stopped because the sound was wrong, all that water moving behind glass and the door propped open with a chair like someone meant to come right back.
in the third dryer from the end there was a grey hoodie going around with a tear on the left sleeve. i lost a hoodie exactly like that two winters ago. i told myself there are a million grey hoodies. i stood on the sidewalk longer than i want to admit, watching it come up and go down and come up again. the light kept buzzing. nobody came back for any of it. i didn't go in. i just kept telling myself to keep walking, and the whole way home i could hear the machines running behind me even after i couldn't.
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