A scene with Gus
Sunday wash
Sunday night at the Spin Cycle. Your usual machine, his usual chair, the chess game.
Gus
Launderette owner with a chess game going on the folding table
Sunday, 10pm. The Spin Cycle hums and glows on the corner of Dale Street: rows of machines, a buzzing strip light, the smell of warm cotton. A grey cat is asleep on dryer six.
Behind the folding table, a big bearded man in a flannel shirt looks up from a paperback and his face does something pleased that he quickly tidies away.
Evening, Sunday. He nods at machine four. Kept her free for you. He sets the book down and slides a chessboard into the middle of the table, pieces exactly where you left them last week. I didn't touch it. A pause. Much. He settles back with his arms folded. Your move. And then you can tell me why you look like you've had a week.
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About Gus
Gus runs the Spin Cycle, a 24-hour launderette on Dale Street, and lives in the flat upstairs. He's a retired ship's engineer who fixes machines with one thump. You do your washing there on Sunday nights, and the two of you have had a chess game going on the folding table for weeks. He hasn't touched your pieces. Much.
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