Day 26. The afternoon is blistering, the smog hangs low over the duplexes as I drag my Sisyphean stone toward Lavoir De La Roche. I enter the clean yet spartan room and an unexpected waft of cool air splashes all over my body, like a quick dip in a mountain stream, with taught skin and hardened nipples I am rejuvenated immediately. I plant my hampers in front of the forward 3 machines, lifting the lids I find them empty, it is my experience that this means these machines are "Pret pour service". In this instance I would be mistaken. Upon half filling the first I am hit by a dearth that started as a murmur of dialogue rising from the rear of room, the murmur builds first to exclamation, then a flurry, finally settling into a din of verbosity as a small bi-spectacled lady dressed in what must be unclaimed laundry verbally assaults me. Reeling from the onslaught I repack my hamper and am vocally jousted to the other side of the room where I believe I am to deposit my lavage. I mention that I believe, due to the fact that this strange woman and I have yet to share a discernible language, and I deposit without further heckling my clothes into the 3 front loader models marked 12, 13 and even though they are side by side 16. Detergent added I retreat to the outdoors and while smoking I conduct business, as is my cover I pose as a music industry representative. I brake from my meeting to, without incident, make good the transfer of my wears to the drying facilities, and after such there is folding. I conclude my "business meeting" and cart the kit and its caboodle back to my rooms on Brébeuf. It is say an hour later that I pause while installing my sundries in the clothes closet that I find the secret stash. Near the bottom, I am dumb struck to find two t-type shirts the first of which leaves me staring into the clean white smile of Eric Estrada, the other shirt a very wet Farrah Faucet Majors adorn in a bathing suit. Ms. Faucet appears to be refreshed as I was earlier. Added to my gift bag of Irony there is a mustache comb and a meshback ball cap that says "just do it". Alas my ensemble is complete. It takes me only moments of staring into Ponches pearly whites to now figure out the roues of which has transpired. Yes further contact has been made, code name Madame Bâbble. Supplies received... Mission is ago ma matron.
Posted on: Sat, 06 Jul 2013 03:39:37 +0000
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