In the fall of 2007, Luna spent a night at a 24-hour laundromat on the outskirts of Murphysboro, Illinois, trying to wash a blanket that smelled of the river. The place was nearly empty — just a tired woman folding her children's clothes and a man reading a paperback by the dryers. But the old wringer washer in the corner was running without a plug. The woman said she'd seen it start on its own at midnight for the past three weeks, and that the clothes it wrung out were never there when she looked back. Luna stayed until dawn, watching the rollers turn, and the basket stayed full of something that dripped black water that steamed in the cold air. This is a story about routine, and the things that find their way back into the cycle.

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