Laundry Day…

I know what you are thinking, what a thing to write about… Oh I don’t mind laundry day, you meet the nicest people at the laundromat. I was loading my clothes into one of those massive machines when a man next to me said, “Hola!” We exchanged a little conversation and then we went on with our business. Angel, a man with a big hat and big moustashe, happened to be from Michocan but  yet he hadn’t heard of the town my father was from, for some reason people from there rarely do. 

My father was born in a tiny town somewhere near the city of Morelia. I journeyed there once with him but I couldn’t find it on a map to save my life. It’s your typical town with a big brightly painted church in the center and a faded market place just outside. I do remember the hand painted signs reading, “Coke Tiene Sabor! Prevala! Coca-Cola is tasty. Try it!” 

Dad grew up dirt poor after his father had a severe stroke, I don’t know much of the details but I can’t imagine living paralyzed in a little town in the 1920’s. My grandfather, Celistino was a man of the town and thus had two families. I haven’t a clue whether my grandmother was the other woman, it doesn’t matter one bit. While our clothes dried, Angel, Maria and I spoke about Trump’s hatred for Mexicans and how much federal income taxes the three of us pay… Nice people are found in the oddest places… This too will pass

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