The Audacity of the Laundromat

The dragon was doing his laundry. He didn't have to separate. Everything was grey. We were only waiting for our dry cleaning. Noticing how many quarters it cost to clean your things. How happily the dryers tumbled with other people smiles.

They handed us our blanket and bedsheets like crude christmas gifts. Wrapped in cellophane. Crinkles cackling as I pulled the packages to my chest. Warm grass still moist with the dew of morning's first piss. Molesting the fading dreams sleep had wept.

The bed hovered on bent wings. The mirror paced. The dragon began folding his things. What do dragons wear anyway? What do people see in those tired rooms. Those nervous mirrors. What do they see?

How many pairs of jeans does a dragon need? How many tuxedos? How many lovers?

Till it can feel the fire in its throat?