Matt froze, hand still resting on the washing machine door, Chucks planted firmly on the linoleum floor. He hesitated, unsure of what to do. He stood for a moment, listening, then looked to his left and right. Slowly he turned around and leaned his back against the machine, surveying his situation. Friday night, no life, and now he didn’t even have dry clothes. Matt frowned discontentedly in the dark. Even losers have dry clothes.

The streetlamps from outside streamed in from the laundromat’s front windows, dimly painting the room a wan yellow. With the whir of the washer having stopped, the silence was beginning to make Matt uncomfortable. Suddenly, a flicker of light appeared from the back of the room, and a pale face became illuminated in its glow.

“Midnight,” said a voice softly. Matt saw the lips moving, heard the voice. It took him a moment to put the two together and process them as being one action. He felt like they were delayed, as if he were experiencing a badly translated film. “Midnight,” she repeated before Matt could respond, and she turned her cell phone towards him so he could see the screen, a beacon beaming from the corner of the dim, nearly dark laundromat. “It’s happened before,” she continued, as Matt proceeded to stand where he was, dumbfounded and silent, “but never at this time. No, never at midnight.” Matt began now to make out her form in the dim light; she sat cross-legged on top of a dryer, clothed in black boots, black pants, black jacket. Matt wondered how he hadn’t noticed her before.

“I’m sorry,” Matt said to her with some apprehension. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about. I uh, I didn’t actually see you there at all.”

She smiled quietly, and snapped her cell phone shut. “I know,” she replied. She uncrossed her legs and swung them over the side of the washer, her feet hitting the side of the machine with two dull thuds. Pushing herself off, she began walking slowly towards him.

Something about it all was beginning to unsettle Matt. Maybe it was simply the eeriness of the dimly lit room, or the way he hadn’t noticed the girl before the lights went out. But all of a sudden, Matt felt urged to leave. He glanced towards the door, then thought of his clothes, a damp huddle waiting in the washing machine to be dried.

And then she was beside him before he could think anything else.

“The dryers aren’t working,” Matt blurted out.

“Least of our problems,” she replied.