The new season of "Lockup: Raw" continues in my local Brooklyn laundromat.
I’m a hard working girl, trying to balance it all: writing compelling fashion features, Pilates lessons, mentoring a 9 year old child, having some semblance of a social life, feeding myself. I showed up 30 minutes late to drinks smelling like Tide—which we both agreed was not a bad thing—and had to run out mid-drinks to switch loads. I returned to the Laundromat around 11 PM to retrieve my clothes from the dryer, but the joint was all locked up. I rattled the silver gates dramatically while cursing. Hipster sidewalk pedestrians were not amused.
On the walk home I thought about all of the things I’d miss. MY PYSCHADELIC FURS T-SHIRT. It’s not replaceable. Nothing really is. You could spend your life looking for the perfect pair of jeans—and for what? For them to be held hostage by a Laundromat with outdated machines?
This story doesn’t end that badly though. I staked the place out this morning and by some stroke of lucky my clothes were in the dryer, right where I had left them. The Pyschadelic Furs tee has been accounted for. The only moral of this story is that when you see your favorite t-shirt you should tell it that you love it because you never know what might happen to it. That—and don’t move into an apartment that doesn’t have a washer/dryer.
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