http://www.glowinthedarkpictures.com/iitarot“Well could you come down now?” Myra’s voice was getting simultaneously higher and less audible on the other side of the telephone, also she became less articulate as she wound up. Marsh was silent a moment, weighing his options. “Of course. I’ll be right down, just let me get some tools together. Did you say it was one of the dryers that popped or one of the lights?”
“Two dryers. Two dryers made this really large pop-pop and stopped and my time wasn’t up yet. My clothes aren’t dry.”
“When are you buying new dryers?” Myra greeted Marsh when he came through the laundromat door. “I pay lots of money here. Why should I throw away lots of money on old dryers? When are you buying new dryers with all my money?”
Marsh didn’t think it was fair to have to fix the machines and talk about them too. The room was hot and sticky with a choking saturation of over the counter laundry chemicals and burnt rubber. He wished Myra would just shut up. He asked her which machines seemed broken, and she pointed.
“There and there. Number seventeen and number eighteen. Both together. But not at the same time. First that one and then that one. Can you get my money back?”
Marsh dug into his pocket and put two quarters in her hand. Myra stared into the silver faces like they were telling her a story. She was building up to her main point.
“Your mother said you should take care of us when she gave you the laundry-mat. You should be here every day.”
“Every day,” she repeated. “You hate us, I know you do.”
Retard, thought Marsh. “Come on, Myra, ease up. I’m here to help, aren’t I?”
