A Dangle Of Dogs

The U-Do We-Do Locust Laundromat is where I get my clothes washed. I've never done it there myself, but the Chinese-American family that owns the place, and their workers who seem to be Latino immigrants, do it for me. The best thing about the place is that they never screw up. During something like half the years I've lived around here, or over ten years, they've never been late, nor lost my clothes, nor mixed mine with someone else's.

Once I asked the owner's son to translate graffiti for me. I had a movie on VHS where the Japanese army was occupying Manchuria and using civilians in fatal experiments (which they really did). As the soldiers searched a house for more victims they saw Chinese words on a wall. It turned out to be "Long Live The Revolution."

John, an animal lover I know is inside doing his own wash, and his three pooches wait (or, to use New York slang from the mid-20th Century, dangle) outside. Boomer is eyeing the badly-parked car whose driver is doing what I'm doing too: picking up clean, dry, and neatly folded clothes to bring home.

I wonder if Boomer and the girls (whose names I forget) knows this lovable creature, who lives next door? I've gathered several blips along this row, and Ceridwen got one a few doors down as well.

Locust Street looked and felt good today.