ENJOY THIS SHORT FURIOUS FICTION STORY
DO NOT OVERLOAD THESE MACHINES
The words were in big block letters and I read, then reread them over and over. I tapped my foot quickly as the sun on my back continued to heat my neck.
He was late.
My first drop at a laundromat and he was late.
A short woman in her eighties waddled into the room and I crossed my arms.
She glanced at me and smiled, carrying a basket full of clothes onto the small table opposite me. I smiled back and glanced around the room, fidgeting with the edge of my shirt. Where was he?
I patted the stuff in my jacket pocket and exhaled. This was such a stupid decision. As I stood up, a tall, thin man in his forties walked into the room. His shirt sleeves were ripped displaying a large tattoo and he had a scraggly beard that hit his chest.
He was here.
I took a deep breath and glanced at the old lady, her back turned away. The man looked over at me and nodded, slinging a bag from over his shoulder, onto the ground near the machines.
I stood and readjusted my jacket, slowly walking towards him. As I approached him, he looked up and smiled.
“Sam?” I asked, looking down at the man, sweat slowly falling down the back of my neck. He frowned and stood,
“No, sorry man.” He slapped my shoulder and turned back to the bag, pulling out dirty clothes and stuffing them into the machine.
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. As I spun, I glanced around the room. Was he not going to show? Sighing, I stared at the sign again.
DO NOT OVERLOAD THESE MACHINES.
“You shouldn’t overload the machines, Dear.” The old woman said quietly. I turned and frowned,
“What?” I asked as she turned and smiled.
“My name is Sam. I think I’m who you’re looking for.” She said, crossing her arms and leaning against the table. I snorted out a laugh and shook my hand.
“I don’t think so,” I said, smiling. The woman rolled her eyes and looked over at the man at the machine, leaning in.
“Just give me the stuff dumbass.” Her voice was hard and her wrinkles deepened as she scowled. I stuttered over my words and glanced at the man, headphones now in his ears.
“Stop blubbering and give me the chewing tobacco,” Sam said, holding out a wrinkled hand. I looked down at it and reached into my jacket. As I handed her the paper bag she grinned and pulled out a small purse.
“I don’t see why this isn’t sold in Australia anyway.” She muttered as she rummaged inside the purse, pulling out the money. She shoved it into my hand and nodded towards the door.
“You can go now,” she turned and continued organising her laundry.
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