This must be the place: 'Dear lord, do right by me, you know I'm tired of being lonesome, ornery and mean'
It happened to me, again. Somebody stole my laundry. All of it. And it wasn’t even in the dryer yet. They ran out the door of my neighborhood laundromat in downtown Waynesville with two loads of wet clothes, never to be seen from or worn out and about one more time.
This must be the place: That’s the way it goes, first your money then your clothes
For a moment, I had thought I’d gone crazy.
Standing in the laundromat just a block away from my apartment in Waynesville, I stared at Dryer #4 with a puzzled look on my face. It was 1:45 p.m. on an otherwise normal Tuesday. I walked up to Dryer #4 and put my hand on the door. It was still warm. It had happened: someone stole my laundry.
