coin laundry

i used to live in Tokyo

There is something about this particular coin laundry. Something set at a slightly different speed. It is imperceptible, infrathin, subtle. Like a dust mote landing on the back of your neck.

Most people will not notice it, especially if they happen to pass it during the daylight hours, when it is indistinguishable from any other humble neighbourhood coin laundry. Set in the vastness of Tokyo, where laundries have multiplied in recent years — slick, new, shining spaces with rows of computerised machines set into tiled walls: dope grins with polished chrome teeth. Doors part automatic, like a mouth with nothing to say. Inside, a bakery or coffee stand, a record player spinning nostalgia, long tables where strangers tap at keyboards chasing deadlines or racing their spin dry.

But this particular coin laundry is not like that. This one is an unapologetic older auntie— she knows. She sits street-side humming low and steady with the clicking rhythm of someone who’s seen many things. Quiet things that no one else needs to know, and she exhales it in dust, thick heat, and detergent freshness. Take it or leave it.

I’ve passed her so many times, but it wasn’t until I walked out of the Lawson on the opposite side of the street that I really saw her. Standing there under a blackcobalt sky, I watched the place shift its skin. Drawn to the glow, I saw how it pulsed different at night, making the street around it fall away. Inside, a girl was folding clothes. A student, maybe. Loose-shouldered, hair like brushed aluminium. Behind her a man perched on a stool, clutching a coffee, his hair polished crow. Encased in that light, even Hopper would’ve looked twice.

Many evenings after, I would stop for a moment to watch. Firepink or rusted red sky — the sight was always cinematic, storybook, glowing lantern. There are times when it seemed to blink, and with it, came the feeling that the night leaned in closer.

She is an unapologetic older auntie — and she knows. She is exactly what she needs to be. A quiet gravity pulling the street toward her door, and the door stays open, always. Take it or leave it.

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