We’ve been here for over four hours.

“We better be getting overtime for this,” I looked over my shoulder at Skyler. She stopped moving her mop and looked up at me, “I know that’s right.”

It’s getting late.

I’ve lived in my apartment for over a week now and I still haven’t done my laundry. I mean… Look at it: the white hamper is filled to the brim and my light pink underwear is just seconds from hitting the floor.

“Ugh,” I say to myself as I continue scrolling on my phone.

Then – of course – an ad for a nearby laundromat appears on my Instagram: “OPEN 24/7!” it reads in colorful text.