Washed Away

Katrina has absolutely ruined my life. She came in like a jealous lover - envious waves, violent seas - and washed away the Laundromatt. Now who will take me in?

It was a place of rest. Spinning resilient peace. Chatting through a million spin cycles with Automatic. Cigarettes and beignettes and black coffee and sweet, loud music and progress. None could make my colors brighter. None could change the direction of a cold day. None could widen the door of possibilities. And now it's gone. And Automatic swept as well.

Some say it was God who spurned her on. His own reasons for broken allegiance. One jealous lover to another. Far from our comprehension. Left stupid and dumfounded. Heartbroken. Staring at the trail of her dark black nylons with nothing left to do but cry.

Some say it was man who left her vengeful. Cheated her and slapped her around. Took another mistress and spun her like a top. Out of control. Wrecking his world as fast as he tried to make it feel like home again.

Some say shit just happens. Without excuse. We're just collateral damage in the wake of her blindness. Acrobats without a net who have no business asking questions of her. And if we stoop as far, we shouldn't expect answers. At least not any logical ones.

All I know is things can never be the same. And as much as I'd sometimes wish to live in memories, I'm forced to evolve. In the meantime, I just stare at the guts of it all. Me with my big pile of dirty underwear. I miss my friends like mad so I wait by the phone. And pray that her fury will recede.