A Quiet Return

Evening set in along the sidewalk, so I looked for a quiet place to retreat from the cold draft. Near the corner, the sliding glass door of an automated laundromat stood slightly recessed into the brick facade. Down at the base, a discarded woven laundry bag strap lay coiled like a thick rope on the clean tile floor. I stepped through the warm air curtain at the threshold and sat down beside the folded strap, leaning back against the smooth glass pane. Above me, rows of large circular dryers spun with a steady, rhythmic hum, casting gentle golden rotations across the floor. In this warm, humming corner, everything feels contained and secure.