It's a heavy sack of laundry, but I haven't done it for a month and it's not that heavy, considering...
Another beautiful day, walking across Crowfoot with the sack over my shoulder like a common tramp or hobo, the resemblance doesn't end there....
Crowfoot trail, sticky fresh tar and asphalt, the visible proof of that late night music I've been hearing these last few days, just past Amato Gelato and there's the laundromat.
It's clean, cool, bright and fresh inside, and the cost of doing laundry is surprisingly inexpensive. I put in my washing and wait, I've brought a new book: "The Hours" by Michael Cunningham, contemporary literature, while my preference is for the classics I should keep track of, know what the current themes in literature are. And it's a short read, large print, spacious lines, and I've done 70 pages by the time the laundry's finished. I like this laundromat, there are no distractions, simply sit and read, the sun through the window, it's cool inside, there's violin music playing through the stereo and it's improved, somehow, by the background accompaniment of washers and tumble driers. I'm sad to leave, I'll have to come here again.