Two Tribes and a Hammer

The fluorescent lights in the all-night laundromat hum at a frequency that makes you feel like you’re inside a migraine that hasn’t started yet. I sit on the orange plastic chair with the crack in the seat and watch my socks tumble behind the round glass. There’s something honest about a dryer. It doesn’t promise to change your life. It just gets things hot and spins them around until they’re dry.