The Fluff and Fold...

I have a Sunday ritual that at 1st glance I had dreaded and in the past few months I have grown rather fond of it. The Laundromat.

It's become my only time of the week with absolute peace. No cell phone, no mothers, no roommates, nothing. I have taken great lengths to make myself appear unapproachable. To the extent that I plug in my iPod and crank it up before I even step foot in the door. It is in fact my only laundry friend. I set to work at the task at hand. Hastily stuffing my clothes in a machine and promptly burying my nose in a book. From time to time, I actually read this book but mostly I people watch.

There is a whole cast of characters. There's the man with a lap top, that I imagine looks at porn, and pulls up a fake document everytime someone walks past. There is the woman who treats her kids so badly in public, that I have concern for their future.

Despite my hardest efforts to look utterly unapproachable, some how this plan occasionally fails. Like today, I was bopping along to Milkshake, and *tap tap* on my shoulder. I pull my little white ear plugs from my ears, sigh loudly and turn around.

Praise God (or Allah, or Macy's depending on what you worship), the most beautiful boy I have seen in quite sometime is smiling back at me.

I could make no words come from my mouth. None. My lower jaw just hung there suspended in air. He finally broke the hour long silence that was probably only 2 micro-seconds.

"Are you a DJ?"

A completely bewildered look must have instantly crossed my face because he began to explain himself.

"You see, I was using that machine just over there, and I first heard your player before I saw it and the only people I have ever known to have iPods are DJ's."

Ok, well I guess this guy missed the fact that they are now dispensed from vending machines on college campuses. Just slip in mommy's credit card....and there ya go. iPod.

"So are you?"

"No."

"Well, I just think it's cool. My name is Ryan (of course not his name, I just always loved that name.) I am camping here from outside of Chicago. " (Go figure.)

"Visiting friends or family?" I ask, actually wanting to hear the answer.

"Not at all. I am here alone. Sometimes the time away from everything is a nice release."

"Why on earth did you pick Nowhere?"

"My dad used to come here as a kid and have these great stories."

The conversation went on for a few minutes small talking about the weather and such. And then it ended just as abruptly as it started, because his load was dry. We parted ways, never to think of each other again.

And my roommate doesn't get why I enjoy my time there so much.