A Life On Spin Cycle
Not moving, yet moving.
Abandoned storefronts. Sun-bleached signs sit as tombstones to failed businesses. One remains, surrounded by failed dreams. A laundromat. Because even dreams need cleaning.
I toss a pair of duffle bags over my shoulders, a denim leg trying its best to kick its way out, and tug open a glass door. It sways, buckling under the lack of grease and shock of an…