Laundry

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This past week, this laundry hung through thunderstorms and sun showers, seemingly forgotten by its owner. It was tucked away in an alley in downtown Palermo against the  shell of a building that had been bombed in WWII.

Tourists traipsing through took pictures of the mended jeans, the frayed leggings, the shirts with runs and stains that hadn’t been completely washed away, of the fallen building, of the building next door, slowly being repaired.

At one end of the alley, a Carabinieri station. At the other end, a one-star Michelin restaurant. And in between, laundry, rubble, and a hard-won life being lived.

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