I stare at my reflection, too bored to watch the clothes tumbling anymore. It’s so loud in here but it’s something you get used to. I’m lucky that it’s a twenty-four-hour laundromat. I like coming down here when the gossipy women of the third, fifth and eighth levels aren’t here. All they seem to do is go in circles talking about other people’s lives. Much like the dryer in front of me. Just round and round and round. The nice quiet – well not really – hum of an empty laundromat suited me.

And then the door opens.

She’s quite small and her glasses are really big, almost covering most of her face underneath her front fringe. She had two pigtail-plaits coming down her front and her head is tilted downward so I can see the entirety of her dark head but very little of her face. I didn’t mean to stare at her but I was surprised someone else had come in at this time. She wore jeans and a dark green jumper that looked a few sizes too big for her. Embroidered at her chest were golden letters which I assumed were that of a high school. I had to look at her a few times, wondering whether or not she was still in that high school. She was small and young.

Her eyes catch mine and I try to spin them around the room as if I’m sweeping it and not staring at her. She looks away quickly and hurries to a washing machine on the other end. I hope I didn’t scare her. I’ve been told I’m not the friendliest looking person but I like to think that I’m quite nice. I’m pretty tall and glare a lot because I forget to wear my glasses and so my friends say that I have a very looming and intimidating presence. Especially because I cross my arms a lot. I only do that because I get cold easily… but like with my glasses, I often forget a jumper.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her fiddling a little with the machine. Her coins are going in and rolling straight back out. After a while, I can’t pretend not to notice anymore. She’s getting flustered.

“Ah yeah, that machine doesn’t take coins anymore.” She looks over at me, a little bit startled and a little bit embarrassed. I smile. “Uh, the one next to it will though.” It’s quiet as she shuffles over her clothes and slides her coins in. It starts and she rubs the back of her neck and glances at me, giving a tiny smile, almost a wrinkle on her face. “For some reason they just won’t put a sign on it or fix it.”

“Thanks.” She watches the machine for a while before relaxing a little. “Do all of the dryers work?”

I laugh a little and jerk my thumb at the back dryer. “They all work but that one over there always has dirt in it so you learn not to use it.” I point upwards. “We think its the tradies on level seven.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” She looks away again and I try to make my posture softer.

[This piece in Unfinished]