We leave the apartment to pick up our laundry. Two of my shirts are sitting on the sidewalk, lightly wrapped around a street sign. They are my two favorite. The fact that there are two provides undeniability.
What are they doing here? Musette asks.
I have no idea.
My first thought is that the laundromat mislabeled our order and somebody else got it and dumped everything on the street. We search for other clothes but don’t find any.
Our bag is behind the counter. The man who works there hands it to me. I ask him how much it would cost to wash the two sidewalk shirts.
He points to a board behind him and tells me that there’s a nine dollar minimum.
I decide to do them with the next order.