time to the music.
The drive over to Happy-Time ends too soon.
We pull into the Laundromat parking lot and drag our clothes out of the Nova’s trunk.
“I swear they’re filthier now than when we put them in there, do you haul dead bodies when we’re not around?” Tonya asks.
“Not today, why?” Todd responds.
I lean into the trunk. “Is that, it smells like, well, shit?”
“Gross” Tonya says.
Todd looks away. “I think my folks are getting a divorce.”
“I’m sorry,” I say and Tonya squeezes his arm.
“My dad dug up my mom’s prize roses, the ones she does that contest with ever year. Anyway, he hid them in my trunk. It took me all afternoon to get it this clean,” Todd says.
“That sucks,” I say.
“I think it’s my fault,” Todd says and looks back at us.
“No,” Tonya reassures, “it’s not your fault; it’s their problem. Why would you think that?”
Todd’s worried look turns into a grin. “Because, I told them their constant arguing was driving me nuts and they should get a divorce.”
“You are a motivational coach,” I say, shaking my head.
I don’t know if he’s for real or not, but then that’s Todd. Tonya just turns away with an exasperated sigh and heads for the doors of Happy-Time.
The Laundromat is hot and humid as hell and our feet do stick to the floor, making squishy sucking noises as we walk. It has fluorescent lights, some missing lamps, and the plastic covers are so dirty that the whole room has a sickly greenish cast to it — it’s a dump too, and reeks of bleach.
“Don’t let anything touch the floor,” Tonya warns as she starts loading a washer.
Todd picks out a pair of her underwear and holds them up. “Sexy panties. Who are these for?”
“Give me those,” she says glancing at me and then grabs for them. I can see she’s angry and embarrassed.
“Dude,” I warn him.
Todd hands them to her and I can tell he is only dimly aware that he’s crossed a line.
“Sorry,” he says.
Tonya ignores him, tosses her underwear in, adds the detergent and then slams the lid.
“Who has the quarters?” she asks irritably.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few quarters and starts up her machine.
She grabs her wine-cooler and sits down, ignoring both of us.
Todd and me just look at each other and then I get my own laundry going.
As I start it up I hear Todd murmuring under his breath, “Whoa dude, slut at twelve-o’clock.”
“What?” I ask.
“Debbie the pyro, your ex-whatever,” he says, nodding towards the front door.
I turn to see Debbie and her friend Christy walking in. They’re wearing jean shorts, flip-flops and matching t-shirts from some softball tournament. They’re both fried-chicken tan and have stringy bleached blond hair. They drop their laundry baskets onto the floor and stop long enough to light cigarettes and then they see me.
“Oh, Jesus,” I say.
“Look who it is, big fucking rock star. You never called me, you think you can just fuck me and not call? You’re a lying sack of shit, Connor Clay!” Debbie shouts across the room as she stomps towards me, waving her cigarette like a weapon.
The other laundry goers try to ignore her.
“Piss off, Debbie,” I say.
“Piss her? Piss you!” Christy shouts, jabbing her cigarette at me.
Todd stares at her for a moment and then starts laughing. I can tell he thinks this is the funniest shit ever.
“That doesn’t even make sense, Christy. Look, just go do your thing, wash your clothes and leave me alone, okay?”
“How come you never called, huh?” Debbie asks.
“You set my car on fire,” I say.
“I was mad.”
“Yeah, I got that. It blew up.”
“It was apiece of shit anyway.”
“It blew the fuck up, Debbie.”
“So?”
“It was my car!”
“I know, that’s why I burned it!”
“You’re a crazy fucking bitch,” I say
“I – am – not – crazy!” Debbie screams, flinging ash as
The drive over to Happy-Time ends too soon.
We pull into the Laundromat parking lot and drag our clothes out of the Nova’s trunk.
“I swear they’re filthier now than when we put them in there, do you haul dead bodies when we’re not around?” Tonya asks.
“Not today, why?” Todd responds.
I lean into the trunk. “Is that, it smells like, well, shit?”
“Gross” Tonya says.
Todd looks away. “I think my folks are getting a divorce.”
“I’m sorry,” I say and Tonya squeezes his arm.
“My dad dug up my mom’s prize roses, the ones she does that contest with ever year. Anyway, he hid them in my trunk. It took me all afternoon to get it this clean,” Todd says.
“That sucks,” I say.
“I think it’s my fault,” Todd says and looks back at us.
“No,” Tonya reassures, “it’s not your fault; it’s their problem. Why would you think that?”
Todd’s worried look turns into a grin. “Because, I told them their constant arguing was driving me nuts and they should get a divorce.”
“You are a motivational coach,” I say, shaking my head.
I don’t know if he’s for real or not, but then that’s Todd. Tonya just turns away with an exasperated sigh and heads for the doors of Happy-Time.
The Laundromat is hot and humid as hell and our feet do stick to the floor, making squishy sucking noises as we walk. It has fluorescent lights, some missing lamps, and the plastic covers are so dirty that the whole room has a sickly greenish cast to it — it’s a dump too, and reeks of bleach.
“Don’t let anything touch the floor,” Tonya warns as she starts loading a washer.
Todd picks out a pair of her underwear and holds them up. “Sexy panties. Who are these for?”
“Give me those,” she says glancing at me and then grabs for them. I can see she’s angry and embarrassed.
“Dude,” I warn him.
Todd hands them to her and I can tell he is only dimly aware that he’s crossed a line.
“Sorry,” he says.
Tonya ignores him, tosses her underwear in, adds the detergent and then slams the lid.
“Who has the quarters?” she asks irritably.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few quarters and starts up her machine.
She grabs her wine-cooler and sits down, ignoring both of us.
Todd and me just look at each other and then I get my own laundry going.
As I start it up I hear Todd murmuring under his breath, “Whoa dude, slut at twelve-o’clock.”
“What?” I ask.
“Debbie the pyro, your ex-whatever,” he says, nodding towards the front door.
I turn to see Debbie and her friend Christy walking in. They’re wearing jean shorts, flip-flops and matching t-shirts from some softball tournament. They’re both fried-chicken tan and have stringy bleached blond hair. They drop their laundry baskets onto the floor and stop long enough to light cigarettes and then they see me.
“Oh, Jesus,” I say.
“Look who it is, big fucking rock star. You never called me, you think you can just fuck me and not call? You’re a lying sack of shit, Connor Clay!” Debbie shouts across the room as she stomps towards me, waving her cigarette like a weapon.
The other laundry goers try to ignore her.
“Piss off, Debbie,” I say.
“Piss her? Piss you!” Christy shouts, jabbing her cigarette at me.
Todd stares at her for a moment and then starts laughing. I can tell he thinks this is the funniest shit ever.
“That doesn’t even make sense, Christy. Look, just go do your thing, wash your clothes and leave me alone, okay?”
“How come you never called, huh?” Debbie asks.
“You set my car on fire,” I say.
“I was mad.”
“Yeah, I got that. It blew up.”
“It was apiece of shit anyway.”
“It blew the fuck up, Debbie.”
“So?”
“It was my car!”
“I know, that’s why I burned it!”
“You’re a crazy fucking bitch,” I say
“I – am – not – crazy!” Debbie screams, flinging ash as
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