Lavanderia

I take my bike to work when I don’t have meetings, because Maputo’s hills would be catastrophic for sweating in smart clothes. When I need to retrieve the bike from the outside storage area, I furtle around the back of the building, past this outdoor laundry station. To the side there is usually an elderly woman preparing vegetables on a chair, and a scrawny cat that shoots me evil glances as it’s occupied my storage area as its lair.