Day 126: I’d Rather Give The Laundromat Parking Lot A Proper Goodbye [Friday Thought W/ TeeCoZee]
Good Moleman. Smithers, have The Rolling Stones killed. It’s been done. It’s Friday, January 22nd, Twenty-21. The weather in Brooklyn is 44° & Pantone 14-4103 and somewhere, somebody is biting into a chicken bone. Another person swallowed a bunch of steak fat. Another person should’ve grabbed a napkin. Another person is biting their lip. Lots of mistakes happen while eating and they’re all happening right now. And me? There’s a reason why I eat sandwiches all the time. It’s hard to go wrong with them. That is, unless the bread is red when I pull it away, the contents fall out while I have no fork or my jaw goes numb from excessively chewing hard bread. Crap. I guess sandwiches can go wrong. Welp. I still have a thing on my mind.
– So this is it. The last article to be written in the Laundromat Parking Lot. I wish I had more to say about it, but this afternoon feels uneventful. Not many people are hanging around the block today. The ones that are have their masks below their noses, a phenomenon/fad that is seemingly going back in style. The stray cats are nowhere to be found. A woman on the other end is chain-smoking cigarettes while she fixes her hair in the window. It’s a totally normal day, as the space itself doesn’t care that I’m leaving. Our relationship was always a one-way street. This is probably because locations don’t have feelings. Or maybe my existence is just truly unremarkable in its opinion.
Either way, I’ll write here proudly one last time. I’ll kick away the gummy bear, cigarette butts and vodka bottle. I’ll sit cross-legged on the [surely urine-soaked] curb and tap away with my thumbs. The sparse people around will think, “It’s that fucking Action Bronson guy again, sitting in filth and playing with his phone”. Little do they know, they may never see me again. Or maybe they’ve never seen me before in the first place. I don’t know. I don’t talk to strangers.
Some objects sitting within a 3 foot radius of me include: multiple postcards to vote for Vivia Morgan, a safety pin, smooshed tin foil, a pie tin, an Arizona Iced Tea W/ Lemon bottle with a faded label, a napkin that says “welcome”, a balled up straw wrapper, a crumpled post-it note, cigarette cellophane, the pull tab from a carton, cigarette foil, a paper Amazon bag, the hood for a child’s coat [pink and blue], a Chinese newspaper, dryer lint, a Wrigley’s wrapper, a Wendy’s cup, a Gushers package, a paper La Colombe bag [where the fuck did that come from?], an empty butter packet, 22 cigarette butts, wrap from a blunt roach, a Modelo Can [24 oz], 4 wads of gum, a Speedo ziplock bag [?!?], what appears to be a plastic hot dog container, 2 vodka shooters, a disposable mask, an empty 6 pack of tree air fresheners, an indiscernable candy wrapper, a croissant wrapper and 6 plastic bags.
In a city as filthy as this, you tend to ignore the trash until you’re forced to identify it. Or pick it up. This is probably true in every neighborhood, in every city. We’ve been conditioned to ignore the little problems in our environment, and before you know it, they pile on and you still won’t notice. This is just the world we live in.
I turned in my laundry card, collected my dollar and stepped outside. I noticed a plastic bag on the 5th floor of the building to the north. It’s trapped on some cable, just flailing in the wind. Just like me, it’s unwilling to let go of something so mundane. Sometimes we just need a little help. Sometimes we need somebody to open their window, loosen us from the proverbial cable and set us free. And with that, I think I’m finally able to leave my sanctuary.
Goodbye, Anonymous Laundromat Parking Lot. It’s been a good time, but now I have a balcony to call my own, and washing machines in the basement.
Try this trick over the weekend: Make note of all the individual pieces of litter on the corner of your block. You could also pick it up if you want. That’d be mighty valiant of you.
Have an observant weekend, everyone!