I’ve been traveling. In a small-town commercial laundromat, I struck up a conversation with the attendant by commenting that she might find it frustrating to deal with old machines and quarters, and summer visitors. She banged the side of the coin slide, hard, and it behaved.  “That’s because the machines know that I can be a b-i-t-c-h,” she smiled. When I feigned shock, she smiled again. “Sometimes really let loose. The best time is between 5 and 8 before I unlock the door. Then I say anything I want, out loud.” Since then, when I’m awake early, I think of that woman, strong-shouldered from folding laundry all day long, letting loose on the machines, then opening the door so that the people can pour in, determined, with their piles of everything that needs cleaning.   

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