...Underneath the Covers. NY, NY.

The blue looked a dullish yellow-green in the light of the dusty country laundromat.

Chan, the young-looking but probably old Chinese guy at the counter just pointed me to a machine, without looking up... which I guess saved us an awkward conversation about why I was wearing a beat-up burnished blue dress and matching heels into his place. I asked for quarters... I decided to drop the attempts at the voice at this point, he wasn't looking up from the glowing box he kept beneath the counter. I imagined some sort of fetish porn going on down there. I asked simply, how can I use the machine if I don't have change? He looked up at me, and then, without pause, he reached into his pocket and tossed me a round nosed key. Told me to bring it back once i'd finished. Sex pervert or not, Chan new how to run a laundromat.

I wasn't alone in the place, either. There was a smelly looking guy sitting in what might've been his boxers and a once-white shirt next to the oscillating fan in the corner. Behind him, creating an oddly dizzying effect, were a series of dryers, all spinning what seemed to be white sheets. He looked me over and, just like Chan had moments ago, just went back on with his business. It was kind of nice, not feeling judged in this place.

My makeup was running though, I could feel it splotching against my clavicle as the sweat maneuvered around the cliff of my jawbone and slid slowly down my neck. I opened the washing machine door and, out of habit, reached my hand inside. Nothing. I always check for change or lint or... I don't know... condoms. You never know what's going to make its way into the bowels of a washing machine.

Then I remembered the zipper.

I walked over to the man in the corner. Surprisingly, he didn't smell as bad as I thought he would... a mildly unpleasant aroma of peach schnapps and burning rubber. Without my asking, he just said... turn around. As he reached for the buckle at the crest of my back, he muttered something along the lines of 'happens to the best of us, son'. I really underestimated this fella.

Now, my chest exposed to the air, I immediately felt cooler. Even somewhat more free, my torso no lounger bound by the mesh of fabric. I slipped the whole thing down past my knees and finally stepped out of the dress.

Looking at it, lying there on the olive-colored tile, I wondered how I'd ever let myself into this predicament. I mean, there comes a time in every man's life when he finds himself alone... or at least practically alone... in an Alabama laundromat... wearing a frilly blue dress. And yet, it still surprised me... the way you can be surprised by a movie even when you know what's going to happen.

I picked up the now lifeless cloth and wedged it as best as I could through the opening of the machine. I closed the door and, looking through the glass portal, the whole thing looked like some beautiful flower caught in a bottle. The bleach went in next, clean and clear like water, or poison. Finally, I put the key in the round opening below the coin slot and turned. Nothing happened. I was about to go back and get Chan when suddenly, with a shake like an old man dancing, the machine started working.

I realized I should have probably brought a magazine. And pants. Pants would've been nice. I could have left, right then... my job was done. I had become whoever it was I was supposed to become by performing this awful deed.

Instead, I stood there... transfixed by the hypnotic motion of the machine. I watched as the deep hued blues began to peel from off the fabric. I watched the dress forget them in the rapturous embrace of the water and bleach. After a few minutes, I noticed, by the scent of things, that my friend was standing beside me. It never gets old... I think he said... where do they go? The colors? Somewhere... never gets old.

And then he walked out. He gave Chan a friendly nod, which I can't imagine drew his attention away, but was nice nonetheless, like tipping an invisible hat, and walked out the door... I think I should've been worried about him... but some part of me understood that maybe there are just people that hang around in their underwear... waiting for something to happen.

I waited long enough for a small puddle of sweat to form down by my feet before I walked over to the corner and took a seat by the fan. I closed my eyes for a minute and let the cool air wash over my skin. A shrill tone let me know it was time to get my clothes. I went to the machine and pulled out the sopping wet mass and walked it over the dryer beside the fan in the corner. I opened the door, put in the load, sealed it inside, and just as before, I turned the key and the machine began to turn. I stepped back for a moment and appreciated the effect. Now alone in the place, I couldn't quite understand why all the other machines were still drying... I assumed there were orders that Chan was taking care of.

Moments later, the series was interrupted when the machine second from the left finally dinged and stopped churning. This was followed by the one next to it, and then the one to the left of my own. The other four kept on turning, but nobody, not even Chan, seemed too interested in coming to retrieve their contents.

I took a seat in the chair by the fan and my thoughts drifted somewhere else. I thought about everything that had brought me here... and for a moment I felt especially alone. It was at this point that I awoke to the sound of another ding... but this time, it was the sound of the door chiming open. The clouds that had hovered overhead on my way there seemed to have given up all pretense and gone into full blown rain. Two more machines had stopped turning, not mine yet, so I couldn't have drifted off for very long, although my eyes had the foggy feeling of sleep.

I couldn't tell who had come in, but I saw a person, or a something, leaning against the counter as I had, presumably trying to talk to Chan. I then saw what was clearly a small Asian hand pointed in my general direction. Then, a face. A boy's face. I didn't know this kid, I didn't think so at least, but he looked at me with a great deal of purpose and a slight tinge of disgust as he walked towards my corner. As he cleared each row of washers, his body came into view.

And suddenly I knew.

His dress, a warm shade of scarlet, was much nicer than mine had been... I'd gone for the cheap stuff it seemed. As he stepped closer I saw the look in his face... don't see me... I don't exist. As he walked towards me, I saw his eyes roll across what must have looked like a series of white sheets spinning in the still working dryers. I sat there waiting for him to say something, but he seemed, for a moment at least, stunned by my general appearance... sitting there, covered in sweat, in nothing but a pair of gray boxers and a set of black heels.

Finally, he opened his mouth and said, Key.

And I smiled.