Tabula Rasa

It had been a long night of searching and my feet were sore, a dull ache pulsing along with my elevated heartbeat. Looking through the glass of the laundrette window, frosted from years of fluctuating heat, slow moisture and unnatural chemicals, I saw him lit in the most heavenly glow transcending from the glittering fluorescents above. I sighed with relief. Stepping through a metal door in a loose metal frame, I was overwhelmed by the smells. Hundreds of detergents all battling for first place at the back of my throat. How could he bear to be in this space for so long? My lungs immediately yearned for a freshness that wasn’t artificial, that didn’t come scooped from a tub. As I edged closer I had to take a pause. There was something sweet about him, soft about the edges. The way he was poised, the most careful and delicate crouch that I’d ever witnessed. I could see the muscles in his shoulder moving and contracting. Such strength. Such power. I said Come on baby, you’re coming home with me. He looked up, blinked, cocked his head to one side and turned back. He continued working away at that broken machine.