Rinse Cycle

The entire world is encompassed in an apartment building basement.

And if you're clever enough, and also lucky, it will open its thighs and expose its hidden secrets. You are never alone there either. Look fast as it darts into the shadows of a Masterlocked storage bin. The spiders all have a sentience about them. They know just when you're dozing off, waiting for that damned rinse cycle, to drop down and give you a little spiderkiss, just behind the ear. The dead leaves on the floor are all cockroaches in the dull glare of the naked lightbulb.

Cinder block. Pipes, vents, wires are something straight from a Czechoslovakian sci-fi movie. A rusty snow shovel in a puddle of oily water. Sump pump, utility sink. As the second quarter goes into the dryer, it all takes on a sexual meaning.

Suddenly it's not just spooks. A girl comes into the basement, a basket of laundry. I say hello she says hello, starts her load.

Third quarter. The washer stops. The girl opens the lid, takes out a pair of white panties, jiggles them between thumb and middle finger, goes over to my dryer, tosses them in.

I am about to ask but some hulk comes bursting into the basement. The girl says “He's the one.” Hulk lunges, grabs fistful of my shirt, pulls me up close. “What's the idea creep? Gotta go sneakin' in people's laundry to get your jollies?”

Crunch. Blood pours out my nose. Smash. I am spitting teeth.

I crumple at hulk's feet. He grabs my legs, one in each hand. He drags me across the filthy ground, leaving a gray streak across the floor, and a thin trail of blood as it runs down my cheeks and drips off my earlobes.

Hulk drags me to a steel beam, brings one hand around so that the pole is between my legs. With a savage shrug jams my groin into the pole. He does this twice then lets me drop. I roll on my side in a fetal position and vomit thinly.

“Tell him,” I say to the girl. “Tell him I didn't take them.”

She laughs as he kicks me hard in the ribs.