The water sloshed around the
linens, like the tide washing
back onto the shore.
Another pile of laundry sat
nearby.
The ink-stained synthetic fabric
would be hell to get
clean, but WD-40 is always
up to the task.
I try to fold the
linens, professionally; better than any
cheap motel attendant.
It’s my duty and my
pleasure to wash, dry, and
fold. Not even Satan (not
his real name) could keep
me from my path.
DizzyDezzi (c) 2016
