Greenpoint smells of coffee shops and laundromats, and it’s never more evident than when biking down Manhattan Avenue just after the rain. My favorite laundromat was called Corner Frenzy, although I never went there. I just liked how immediately upon reading the name you put yourself in a washing machine. You felt the craziness of the spin cycle. You could not tell which way was up. Outside of Corner Frenzy was the complete insanity of life in this city; a locura so encompassing that is was nearly impossible to stay afloat, to keep your head above water long enough to find the horizon.
Corner Frenzy forced you to put yourself in someone else’s shoes. To put yourself into the shoes of your clothes. Running around with you all day, all night. Being tossed carelessly on the floor of whatever small box you deemed a home just to be thrown on again, to run around and around. At Corner Frenzy, for once, you thought about what that must be like; to exist in this city just to help protect someone you didn’t choose, and you didn’t really know. At Corner Frenzy, you stopped for a moment to appreciate the close you chose. The current closeness of your choice. And maybe, just maybe, you’d fold said clothes with extra care next time. You’d spring for the branded fabric softener. You wouldn’t forget the dryer sheets. You’d give yourself, and your sweater, a little hug as you walked out the door. Stay with me, you’d think. That’s what Corner Frenzy was. Although, I never went in there.
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