Dryer Number Four

The low rumble pulled me straight through the open double doors of the laundromat. Down along the back wall, machine number four was tumbling a heavy pair of work boots, dropping a solid, syncopated clank against the steel drum every few spins. I leaned back against the frame of a wire laundry cart to clock the timing first. Once the groove locked in, I stepped right into the aisle, planted both sneakers against the linoleum, and brought my mic lead down against the warm chrome rim on every downbeat. The machine kept spinning, but I set the tempo.