_At the laundromat. A skillfully hand-painted sign in the lower left corner of the front window says, “It is raining.”_ LAUNDROMAT GUY: I have your assignments ready. _He hands HIM and ME their assignments. They read them over, frowns growing more and more chasmous._ HIM: What if we don’t want to do these? ME: Our laundry’s not even done . . . . LAUNDROMAT GUY: What if you— Wha— Ha— _[gets up and kind of dances on heavy legs, chains a-jangle, fat beneath creaky leather bobbing]_ Wha— If— You don’— Ha! _[finally just laughs. He can laugh for a full five minutes or an hour if you want. Hell, fuck it. Let him laugh all god damn year. I don’t care. The leaves will still change. I’ll still be going home. It’s still tomorrow, and it’s still raining]_ HIM: _[half-sheepishly to ME, as in an exchange of fortune-cookie fortunes]_ What’s yours say? ME: It says I have to stay here and . . . well, to be honest I can’t quite make it out. HIM: Mine says I have to go back to high school. ME: No . . . ! HIM: Y—yes. But— _[relief pours off him as sweat]_ I get to keep all the knowledge I have now. And it’s only for a little while. ME: Small blessings and all that. HIM: Yeah. I guess so.