“What?” he demands.
My outrage withers under his dark glare. “I just… I just?—”
Bang.
Making a face, I turn around, hoping never to need anything from that man because I’m unlikely to get it.
When I return to my apartment, I look at the dark blue fabric couch and then at my bed, automatically scratching my arm. I’m hungry, and I need a shower, but I have to do something about this apartment first.
After slipping on my new denim jacket, I take the bus to the nearest grocery store and head for the cleaning department. I pick up a can of bug spray and, once I’ve thought about my plan of attack for a little longer, a lint roller.
Paying for both is painful. Everything is soexpensive. I didn’t appreciate how lucky I was to have everything handed to me. Now I check the prices of everything, carefully count out my change, and try to work out how much longer my money will last. Once I’ve dealt with the things crawling on me in my apartment, I can find a job.
Back in my apartment, I stuff my bedsheets into a trash bag and drag the mattress onto the floor. Plugging my nose with a finger and thumb, I spray the ever-loving crap out of the mattress and the couch with the bug spray, then leave the apartment with my bedding in trash bags to find the nearest laundromat.
Will my plan to kill whatever bit me last night work? I have no clue, but I can’t afford to find another apartment or get this place fumigated. This will have to do.
A man is dozing at the laundromat counter, about a fifteen-minute walk from my apartment. It smells of warm, clean linen, and a machine is shaking as it furiously spins.
I clear my throat.
He jerks upright. His brown eyes widen as his chair tips. Before he can crack his head open or I can dart forward to grab him, he grips the counter, steadying himself.
Safe from a cracked head, he eyes me with the hostility I deserve for nearly killing him. “Yeah?”
Feeling itchy just holding the trash bag with my bedding, I lift it so he can see it over the counter. “I need to wash this, but I’m not sure how to use the machines.”
Yes, I could probably read the instructions on the machines or struggle to figure it out, but I don’t have money to waste on getting it wrong, and I’ve learned from my short time of looking after myself how little I know. I need all the help I can get.
He stares at me, and I know what he must be thinking: spoiled rich girl forced to fend for herself or an idiot with no life skills.
He’s right on both counts.
Braced for his anger, I blink, surprised when he heaves himself up from his stool and, sighing heavily, snags a container of detergent from a shelf behind him. “This way.”
I trail him to one of the big metal machines, bypassing the ones already spinning and whirling.
“Your clothes go in the washing machine.” He points, and I stuff the bedding into the machine, then I turn to him.
He closes the door with more force than I would have used. “For a big load, you need eight quarters. You got quarters?”
I shake my head.
Another sigh makes me feel like the biggest idiot in the world, but his tone isn’t cruel when he says, “Wait here.”
He’s back in seconds with a handful of quarters, and I watch him feed them into the slot in the machine. He pours liquid into the machine and checks that I’m watching. “You got all that?”
I nod. “Then you just choose linen or whatever it is you’re washing?”
There’s no loud sigh this time. Am I less of an idiot in his eyes now? I hope so.
He twists the dial, then points at the time on the machine. “Thirty minutes. Some people pay me to switch stuff from the washing machine to the dryer. They come at the end of the day to collect. That costs extra. Some come back to switch clothes from the washing machine to the dryer and then go home or run errands in between. Most do that if they’re locals.”
I nod, understanding.
He leads me to the row of dryers in a much hotter part of the laundromat. Clothes bounce and whirl through the glass doors. “These take about the same time, less if you’re doing clothes instead of bedding. And you want the highest heat for bedding, or you’ll be feeding quarters, and it still won’t dry all the way. Use a cart to move your clothes from one machine to the next.”
“How many quarters for the dryer?”
