The Laundromat

    The day only came once in a while, and it most likely did not come quite as often as it should.  In any case, today was another iteration of The Day, and that day was Laundry Day.  Riley could always tell when it was laundry day because that was the day that Scotty began to growl at the pile of clothing on the floor.  After close observation, Riley determined the root of this habit was the fact that the pile would begin to smell like another dog.  Scotty, he decided, was territorial.

    Riley walked down the street, dragging an old red wagon behind him.  Upon the wagon were three laundry bags full of dirty clothes.  Riley had separated the laundry into the various piles before leaving the house so as to save time and not offend the other patrons of the laundromat with the state that some of his clothing was in, not to mention the odor.  Scotty, of course, was trotting alongside Riley.  Scotty was Riley's constant companion, after all, even during such an undertaking as Laundry Day.

    The laundromat loomed in front of Riley, a somewhat run-down building with a sign proclaiming "Suds and Such" on the outside.  The door made an electronic * beep * as Riley opened it, dragging the wagon behind him.  Scotty managed to slip in behind the wagon as the door shut.  Riley surveyed the interior.  Good, there was nobody else here.  That was the beauty of this particular laundromat; nobody else was ever around to be affected by Riley doing his laundry.

    The thing one must understand about Riley's laundry was that it had the habit of attacking strangers when Riley was trying to wash it.  This made things rather hard on him if there was anyone about, and even harder on the person in question.  Riley did have quite a lucky streak going, however, and it had been quite a while since he last had to subdue his laundry.  He was hoping for a continuation as he began to remove the laundry from the first bag and put it into the nearest machine.  Detergent went in after it, and soon the machine was humming along, cleansing Riley's clothes of the urge to attack strangers.

    Not wasting any time, Riley moved to another machine and hastily threw his second bag of laundry into the vacant device.  Again, he put the correct amount of money into the coin-operated machine and started the wash.  He looked around and sighed, relieved.  It looked as if his luck was going to hold out yet again.  He reached for the last bag of laundry, undoing the knot that kept it safely shut.

    The beep of the door opening screeched through Riley's mind like a siren.  He whirled about, purely by reflex, and let the bag of laundry fall to the floor, where its contents spilled out onto the hard linoleum.  "Oh sh-"  Riley was knocked aside as the dirty laundry (mostly shirts and underwear) formed into a large, seething mass of fabric and moved toward the unfamiliar body in the room.

    Riley shook his head to clear it, and looked up sharply at the sound of a distinctively feminine scream.  Standing in the doorway was a woman who couldn't have been much older than him, if that.  She was currently in shock at the idea of a pile of dirty laundry advancing on her, and Riley couldn't quite blame her for it.  It certainly had caught him off guard the first time it happened.

    It certainly was the first time that anything of this sort had ever happened to Lynn Patton, for that was the name of the girl.  She was quite content to scream her head off, her attention fixed on the mass of dirty socks and undershirts that was likewise captivated by her, and had formed a mouth, most likely for the express purpose of eating her.  Now, how a pile of laundry could digest anything is something that didn't enter in to either Lynn or the laundry's mind.  Both were content to play out the roles appointed to them in this little scene, that of prey (or Lynn) and predator (laundry).

    It was lucky for the both of them that Riley had dealt with such a situation before, and knew just the thing to do.  Grabbing the bottle of liquid detergent off of the washing machine, he quickly unscrewed the cap and sent the bottle flying into the back of the pile of laundry.  The laundry, feeling the impact of the bottle, immediately absorbed the projectile.  The bottle was crushed under the force of the constricting laundry, and the liquid gushed forth, straight into the inner workings of the laundry-monster-blob-type-thing.

    Lynn watched, fascinated, as the pile began to foam and bubble.  What sounded almost like a scream emanated from the middle of the pile before the entire bubbling mass blew apart in a terrific explosion, scattering articles of clothing and bubbles to the four winds.  Lynn escaped the blast relatively unscathed, but Riley was thrown against the back wall, and Scotty ended up entangled in a pair of boxers and covered with bubbles.

    "What," she said slowly, "was that?"  Riley got to his feet, rubbing the back of his head.

    "That," he stated simply, "is my laundry.  Seeing as you had a hand in all this, would you mind terribly helping me find it all so I can wash it?"  Lynn simply stared at him, her mouth agape.

    "Your laundry?" she asked incredulously.  Riley sighed.  She obviously hadn't heard his request for help in retrieving it.

    "Yes, my laundry.  Now would you help clean up this mess you made?"  Lynn looked at him, amazed at his audacity.

    "I nearly get killed by your homicidal laundry and now you expect me to help you pick it up?"  She crossed her arms over her chest and snorted.  "Who the heck do you think you are?"  A piercing glare.  "I'm not helping."

    Riley was, to say the least, in a bad mood.  "I think I am  Riley, and yes I do expect you to help.  You're the one who caused this all, and aside from that I did save you from a pile of laundry.  Wasted a bottle of detergent, too."  He muttered to himself as he began throwing the scattered laundry into an empty washing machine.  "Bloody ungrateful of her, I should think.  Doesn't even want to help the chap that saved her life."  For her part, Lynn gave one last snort and walked out of the laundromat, vowing silently to never come back to that one as long as she lived.

    "Wurf," observed Scotty.

    "You said it," Riley replied to the dog, who was shaking off suds from his coat.  "Some people just don't know how lucky they are."

Look, it's more character development or something!  And who is the mysterious Lynn, eh?  A future love interest?  A bit part?  Who knows?  I'm the bloody author and I don't!  Isn't that silly?  Hopefully there'll be another one of these delightful time-wasters next week!  Until then, stay out of the laundry room.

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