IT HAPPENED AT THE LAUNDROMAT

It is not a secret; it is just not a discussion. It is a private thing from another life and another time.

It is the presence of a friend, a good friend. One of those Phoenix friends; the kind that burns off the impurities and leaves pureness.

I love dreams.

Someone had left their laundry in the dryer at the laundromat. Rather than stuff them into a basket, I folded them. The last piece was a pair of white underwear with a pink tinge.

And I remembered the cowboy and how he had washed his whites with a loose red sock and wore pink underwear. Can't help but feel his presence.

Gotta love cowboys.

e