Free Laundry.

Years ago, I spent a winter living in a twenty-four hour laundromat. Well, "living" may be an abuse of the word. I slept lightly across three dryers for a few hours a night, and tried to avoid being seen.

I wasn't technically homeless, but home life had become so unbearable that I avoided it at all costs. During the preceding fall, I had slept on friends couches and floors, or in their cars when the moment called for it. I had no job, no cash, no prospects. I was merely trying to get through my days. I was a burden to everyone, leeching and stealing, and by Thanksgiving, I had no one left. I can't blame them.

I tried going back home,but it didn't work. It just wasn't meant to be. So, I fled into the night, wandering with nothing.

I tried a few friends doors, but was turned away. The night wore on, and soon, I passed my laundromat.

I remember that there was a little snow on the ground, but not too much. The air was brisk, and the town was fairly empty. The yellow light from the inside seemed so inviting, and the place was empty. I walked in, and sat on the bench by the dryers.

The heat was on, and it was fantastic. A dryer was going, and before I knew it, the humming put me to sleep, propped up against the wall, slouching on the bench.

The door opening a few hours later woke me up. It was an older guy. Probably a night shift worker somewhere on his lunch break. He gave me a weird look and I left.

I figured he had noticed that there were no other machines going and I was probably just a hobo or derelict in general (which I may or may not have actually been at that point). I wandered around until dawn, and went to school. Free breakfast and lunch there.

After that, when I couldn't find someone to pal around with for a little while, I just went to the laundromat. I had a small bag with me where I kept a pen and notebook, a few library books, and whatever money I was able to scrounge up in my traveling. I would stop at the gas station down the road, pick up a Slim Jim and a cappuccino, and sit on the dryers and write. Songs, stories, whatever. I lost a lot of weight.

After a little while, I began to become conscious of my disgusting clothes. I had been wearing the same outfit for almost two weeks. So, I took parts of it off (overshirt, underwear, socks first, then undershirt and jeans) and would throw them in with other peoples loads. I would keep an eye out the window, and if I saw someone coming, or even look like they were coming, I would race to the machine to grab my shit and dart into the bathroom. I was never caught, but I came very close.

Every few weeks, I would try to go home. Christmas especially. I stayed three days at home then. Holiday spirit, I guess. Then, I was formally kicked out.

I still had the laundromat. I stayed there. Sleeping lightly, pirate washing my outfits. Scrounging change for food. Reading and writing like a madman.

A month and a half went by, and I was feeling terrible. In fact, save for maybe one or two others, it may have been my lowest point (living in a laundromat, go figure). I decided I needed to get out of the situation. I searched (unsuccessfully) for work and began to try to mend my friendships. I began to make Home a regular stop, and before long, I was allowed back in.

We ended up working things out, and I moved back in, but only long enough for me to find a job, and get out, the right way. Living in a laundromat is simply not fun.