Permanent Press

The sign is missing the 'L'.

Midnight smells like hot lint

and someone's cheap detergent.

The machine in the corner

is trying to swallow a pair of boots.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A heavy, uneven rhythm

that shakes the plastic chairs.

A man in a grease-stained hoodie

watches the glass door spin.

When he stands up to leave,

a used dryer sheet

is stuck to his heel

like a thin, static wing.