Laundromat Man

He slouched on the wooden bench outside of the 24 hour laundromat two blocks from his house. A yellow light hanging by half of its cord dripped shadows on the highlights of the night that lagged reality. The undefined darkness was an insidious vacuum that siphoned the terrors from his forgotten dreams and brought them alive just beyond the edge of illumination. He scratched his beard, black and hooked like velcro, with uncut fingernails as he crossed his right foot over his left knee. The laundromat coughed hot air with each wash cycle, the machines spinning together in an eerie harmony that nulled the rest of night’s noise.

If there were people in this night, they would see a pair of eyes peaking from a black tuft of hair and they would think that it’s been too long since this guy on a bench last spoke to someone. Only a matter of days, but that’s a long time to not share a thought or comment on someone or something. Void – dark – lost were only the beginnings of his untold story. The true horror that haunted him still as he sat alone in front of the laundromat waiting for a month’s worth of laundry to finish.