Laundromats on the great plains are sad places. Long after dark, it’s in this location where the tired and the weary get to spend what little time they have left of their day. Almost metaphorically, they come carrying their soiled garments–and for a buck and half a load, they hope like hell that city tap water will wash away the stains that a tough life produces.
But in a tragedy of the saddest sorts, their garments never really do come clean. Tired to the bone, they retreat to where they came from thinking that tomorrow has to be better than today.
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