The change machines were broken at my usual laundromat. So I had to haul my clothes to the other side of town...to hell's laundromat. Hell's laundromat does not seem to have a name; the sign out front has lost all lettering. The facilities are filthy, deserted, and covered in tacky fake wood paneling. A mangy chihuahua, with scabs on its forehead, wandered through the aisles; the patrons were mostly disheveled women who looked as if they had lost all will to live.

On the bright side, hell's laundromat had very functional dryers. I suppose hell is a good source of hot air, hmm?