My hands have taken on the consistency of overwashed washcloths by the time I'm done folding yesterday's batch of sweat-scented t-shirts for Uncle Joe's Discount Laundry. It's been three years since I quit community college, telling myself that real life experience trumps textbooks, like some sort of twisted life hack. Now, I fold and re-fold as if trying to stuff all disappointment into neat little rectangular corners of cotton and polyester, my fingers slipping on the slightly damp edges – exactly the kind you never iron out in this line of work.
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