Watching clothes tumble in the spin cycle of a washing machine in a dingy barely lit laundromat really does something to a person. My thumb rubs across the top of a lighter but no flame comes of it. I flick my not even lit cigarette into a pile of mushroom encrusted clothes stationed below flickering lights. I don’t even know why I do it, I’m not even a smoker. I suppose it was for a dramatic entrance but no one’s even here to see it. As I step over moss covered laundry baskets, I can’t help but wonder how my simple life of being an elementary teacher has lead to this.