LAUNDRY

The windows in the Laundromat are floor to ceiling. There is the street full of cars and a railroad full of trains. Some times the street is empty, but hardly ever. The railroad is more often empty than the street. There are little candy and toy dispensers as you come in the glass push doors. There is a coke machine as well which is vintage, not even to be cool. It's just been left behind and doesn't work properly. It ate my dollar, but the Spanish lady who runs the place gave it back to me in quarters.
It's always hot in there. Even in November, because it's in Southern California. I sweat. The dryers go and go and I sit and read. Most of the time I pose as though I am reading, but I find the activity around me so soothing that I never get very much reading done, even though I always bring a book. Most of the time I am the only white person present. Everything is labeled is in English and Spanish.
The people speak Spanish and so does the Television. I have been to laundromats with many Televisions. In this laundromat there is only one and it is always on the same channel. A Spanish channel. The Spanish Soap channel. I don't watch the soaps every week, so I am always in a fog as to what's going on in the story. That, and I only know English. I make myself understood to the washers however.
There are always little brown kids in there, any where from 2 years to 10. The kids are funny. They yell, hide under the tables and wheel each other around in carts, and the mothers gab, fold and scold. Not too much scolding though. Not as much scolding as I have seen white rich Valencia mothers do.