A Photo A Day For A Year
As a child, I must have walked to this laundromat five thousand times or more. It was the closest location relative to my house that had a couple vending machines. So many quarters were wasted inside this little, overheated yellow room over the years.
When we drove by it today, something compelled me to stop inside. The exterior looked so different than I remembered it, the vibrant seafoam painted an unappealing, sterile white. The indefinable, seemingly random car vacuum gutted and painted white as well to hide its very existence at all. Even the sidewalks leading up to the door seemed to be a different color than the one my memory paints.
It was such a nice feeling to walk into that familiar yellow room with the familiar decor and the familiar hand-painted warnings about climbing into the dryers. Even the baskets were the same. For a brief moment, I felt like I was at home again.
And that’s a rare feeling that just doesn’t come around very often.