Our stories connect us
I'm sitting on the bench in the Laundromat doing my monthly laundry, waiting for the last of my clothes to dry. It is now only the two of us in this place. The smiling woman has draped her body across the bench and covered her face with her scarf. She is talking incessantly, and laughing without restraint. I can't quite make out her words. Sometimes it sounds as if she's praying, sometimes having a conversation with herself. She is not here to do laundry. She is a mirror.