I pass through a nondescript car wash
on my way into work each morning.
Although it functions, it's rather dilapidated
and faded. There's no accounting for
some of the things I've seen in the half dozen bays -
one time I saw a full-sized set of
mattress and box springs. One morning,
an engine block from a small car lay
on the floor of another.
Most mornings, I find myself
fascinated by the way sunlight illuminates
the yellow walls. A few days ago,
the floor caught my eye; the seams in
the concrete angled away from
the wood-covered pit and tiny gouges,
made by the water from the pressurized hose,
seemed to dance in space.