The peak of my week is laundry day.

I take the elevator all the way down to the basement,

where an old radio hangs sideways from the ceiling,

playing bad latin-american music all day long. Or hip hop.

Today a TV set was silently keeping company to the radio.

A new addition.

The first time I did my laundry I was sexually harassed by a black one-legged man.

At first he was talking about the weather, and I was fascinated by the sound of his voice.

But soon all these other words appeared. Cocks and coming and licking toes.