THE 11:59 LAUNDRY CLUB

At 11:59 p.m., every machine in the Lucky Suds Laundromat stopped spinning at once.

I had come to wash a coffee-stained blazer before a job interview. The old woman behind the counter handed me a token printed with a tiny question mark. "Midnight loads only," she said. "Put in the thing you can't get clean."

I looked into my basket. The blazer was stained with coffee, but my phone held an unsent apology to my brother. The woman nodded toward the empty washers as though she'd seen the message.

A sign on the wall read: BLEACH NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONSEQUENCES.