Laundry Time.

There's something wonderful about the loveliness of a busy day, filled with  mundane chores, work annoyances and a lost sock, sadly starring at me from the dirty floor of the laundry mat.

I often wonder, why it is, that laundry mats offer such a feeling of serenity? Perhaps it's the solitude or warmth from the dryers? It could be the small conversations that one has when they're folding their unmentionables besides a perfect stranger? But I'd like or rather prefer to assume that it is all of the above, and something a little more?

Gracias.