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Sunday Morning Coming Down

Laundromats are sad places.  People doing washing, reading the paper or the tabloids, waiting for the wash or dry to end, folding intimate garments in public spaces, trying to hang on to bored little kids, or watching TV through the static on an old worn out set.   I set off this morning from the Red Rock to a local Laundromat to do my four days of undies, socks and t-shirts for the next leg of the trip.  Motorcycle’s don’t have a lot of luggage room, so I can only take a few days worth of clothes.   Sunday mornings seem to be a busy time at Laundromats too – as nearly every machine was taken.  But I found an empty washer and put my small load in. 

I had to get change, and the machine dropped five dollars in quarters out and it sounded like Las Vegas was supposed to sound, or at least how it used to – ching ching ching ching…  Twenty minutes later when the wash was done, I had to find a dryer, and all but one were being used and a lady was eying the only vacant one.  I quickly tossed my stuff in before she could get over to it.   She was a 30 something redish/blonde woman, pregnant, with two little kids clamoring all over her.  She had mens undies in her laundry so I’m assuming she’s married or has a boyfriend. She didn’t seem to mind I’d got the dryer first, and as I was wearing a Harley-Davidson T-shirt she asked if it was my bike out side.  I told her yes, and that I was on a long trip doing my four days of undies and socks and I didn’t expect they would take long to dry.  She said it was OK, and she’d be there almost all morning anyway.  She told me how jealous she was, and that she’d grown up on bikes, and for her high-school graduation her father gave her a motorcycle and a trip to Sturgis Bike Week.  She said she can’t ride now, no money, kids, and being pregnant, but one day she would again she said.  So we talked bikes while my undies and socks spun dry and I folded them up, and her kids, which she said were attached by Velcro, crawled all over her.

She and the kids stood at the window and watched me ride off to the north and back to the Red Rock.  I can’t imagine living in Las Vegas, having two kids and one on the way and doing laundry on a hot Sunday morning in a run down Vegas Laundromat.  My life is immeasurably better (at least by my standards) than hers, but I have to wonder who is happier.  The woman in the faded sun dress, pregnant, with two kids, doing multiple batches of laundry in that seedy Laundromat, or me?  I guess we’ll find out. 

Well I woke up Sunday morning, with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so  I had one more for desert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes and found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair, and stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I'd smoked my mind the night before with cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking.
Then I light my first and watched a small kid playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street and caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
Then it took me back to something that I'd lost somehow somewhere along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk, I'm wishing Lord that I was stoned.
There's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone.
There ain't nothing short of dying that's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk and Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy with a laughing little girl he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday School and listened to the songs they were signing.
Then I headed back for home and somewhere far away a lonesome bell was ringing.
And it echoed through the canyons like the dissappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk, I'm wishing Lord that I was stoned.
There's something in a Sunday that makes a body feel alone.
There ain't nothing short of dying that's half as lonesome as the sound
Of a sleeping city sidewalk and Sunday morning coming down.

Kris Kristopherson - Sunday Morning Coming Down

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