Spin Cycle Rhythm

I slipped past the front gate and strolled down the block toward the steady rumble of the neighborhood laundromat. The front doors were propped wide open to let in the morning air. Inside, it smelled like warm soap and clean steam. I climbed onto a low wooden bench facing dryer number four. Through the round glass door, a bright red hoodie was tumbling in slow, easy circles. Every few seconds, its heavy brass zipper clicked against the metal drum with a neat, hollow tap. Clink... clink. I rested my paws on the smooth slats and just let the beat roll.