Monday, October 12, 2015

A Long Day

The laundry across the street where we dropped off our clothes closes at 8, and right now it's twelve after.

We go there all the time, and I know that he usually stays open a little after, so I tear down the stairs, and sure enough, Michael, the owner, is at the counter going over the books.

He looks up, clearly weary after a long day, but still manages to muster a smile for me. The lines of his face look a little more pronounced than I remember, his thick hair a little grayer and disheveled, and the happiness I feel at his still being open is tempered somewhat by the unwelcome prospect that he might have kept his shop open waiting for me.

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