I was out walking on the corner one day.
I spied some old washing.
In the doorway it lay.
Well there was a doorway, but no door.
There was a door, but not attached to the doorway.
Well there was washing, I had inadvertently found the Best Laundrette.
Unattended, seemingly unloved, washing spinning happily, unobserved.
Guantanamo orange walls, stormy petrol blue sky linoleum floor.
Lit by several stark, bare fluorescent tubes.
I quickly went about my business, made my excuses to myself and left.