I used to walk past the launderette at the top of Agincourt Avenue on my way to Queen’s University. In the winter I would cut through the entry to briefly warm myself in the hot steam that blasted out from the huge tumble driers inside. I always looked forward to this part of the journey: the steam, the smell of freshly laundered clothes, the pretty girl working behind the counter. In the summer I would keep to the pavement, avoiding the steam. Through the open doors the sounds of the launderette billowed out into the street: the growl of the machines, muted conversations, and above it all the tinny clamour of the radio playing pop songs. On one hot day I noticed that the radio had been placed too close to one of the driers, and its plastic side had melted into a twisted, but still functioning, mess. It was playing ‘Disco Inferno’.
Audio Read by Conor Caldwell: Laundry – Conor