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confessions of a laundromat junkie I love the way it smells in here. The clean, the soaps, the hint of warm metal. All that cleanliness and godliness for about 20 quarters. I just can’t get enough of it. All that dirt coming in only to be washed in absolution and sent back out unto the world again pure and chaste for another week. Dirty laundry pours into those little round windows. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Sloth potato chip stains cover my pants, marinara gluttony crosses my shirt, lipstick lust marks my collar. Penance must be paid, so I gather all those stray pennies that snuck into the wash, now shiny and clean, and hide them, heads up in the missing tile pieces of that old laundromat floor… a little game I play with some unknown child— manna from heaven on a boring Monday night. (continues) -33- And I always leave feeling a little better, a little lighter, and, acting on the overwhelming urge to love thy neighbour, I DWJWD (do what Jesus would do), and tithe my last two quarters to the red-headed cutie in the blue Texas Rangers cap. -34- ...

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