The late afternoon fluorescent hum vibrates through the water-stained concrete floor, a constant, low-grade pressure. In the back corner, the defunct washing machine anchors a thick, orange extension cord, coiled tightly around its drum. A faint, metallic scent, like ozone, clings to the air near the yellow lint trap. I watch the cord, noting the residue of blue detergent clinging to the dispenser tray, and the loop remains undisturbed. Despite the dampness and the visible wear, the cord always terminates precisely three feet from the outlet, regardless of how many times the machine has been moved or repaired. It is a perfect, unchanging geometry, a loop that seems to resist the natural entropy of the room. I wait for the slightest shift, the almost imperceptible twitch of the coiled plastic, but the cord holds its position, taut and waiting.
hum · uneasy