Wash Out

-INT. Laundromat. Night.

(The walls are lined with the round doors of stacked washing machines, like dark eyes turned inward. The plastic bus stop seats and folding tables are lit by harsh fluorescents and competing neon in cyan and magenta. Through the big picture window, the street is obscured by silver sheets of rain. ANNA enters, drenched, with a swollen garbage bag over her shoulder.

ANNA, 20, with an oversized yellow raincoat and her wrist in a pink cast, looks around the laundromat while the overhead lights flicker. The place is deserted, but one washer is running, multicolored clothes spinning and splatting through a cyclical rinse. ANNA drops her wet garbage bag on the floor and wipes her hands on her jeans as she walks to the change machine, next to a pop machine that lights her face bright red. Pulling a crumpled bill out of her pocket, ANNA flattens it on the side of the pop machine before feeding it into the change machine's slot.

The bill is spit out, rejected. ANNA sighs and presses the bill as flat as she can before trying again. The bill is spit out, rejected. ANNA punches her cast into the machine, then clutches her injured arm to her chest, hissing through wincing teeth.)

JERICHO (off screen):

Here.

( A crisp bill appears, hovering next to ANNA's elbow. She whirls, eyes wide, back pressed against the machine. JERICHO, 50, heavyset in a red leather jacket, holds the bill and a neutral expression. ANNA holds out her trembling bill to trade.)

ANNA:

Thanks.

(JERICHO makes the trade and walks down the row of seats, sitting down far away from the change machine. ANNA feeds the crisp bill into the slot and turns the knob, stepping back as quarters come spilling out of the chute and roll away across the floor.)

ANNA (cont):

Shit!

(ANNA drops to all fours and frantically scrambles after the coins. JERICHO gets up from his seat and walks across the floor, then slowly gets down on his knees to help gather the coins.)

ANNA (cont):

You don't have to do that!

JERICHO:

Okay.

(He does it anyway. ANNA glares at him and snatches the quarters out of his hand.)

ANNA:

Thanks.

JERICHO:

No problem.

(ANNA clambers to her feet and grabs her garbage bag, wrenching open a washing machine and shoving her clothes in. JERICHO carefully climbs to his feet as ANNA slams the round door shut, twisting the knobs and jamming quarters into the tray.)

JERICHO (cont):

You want detergent?

ANNA:

Ain't got none.

(ANNA tries shoving the quarters into the washing machine, but the tray sticks and they won't go in.)

JERICHO:

I got some. Fabric softener, too. Smells like hibiscus breeze. I mean, to be honest, it smells like soap.

ANNA:

What do you want?

(JERICHO reaches past her and slides the quarters into the washer.)

JERICHO:

Nothing.

(JERICHO walks down the row back to his seat, picking up a magazine to read. ANNA crumples up her empty garbage bag and chooses a seat at the opposite end of the row. She watches JERICHO for a moment, and he ignores her. ANNA counts the quarters in her hand.)

ANNA:

You want a pop?

JERICHO:

Naw, you're alright.

(ANNA approaches the vending machine and feeds a few coins in. She presses a button, and the wrong soda comes out.)

ANNA (cont):

You gotta be friggin' kidding me.

(She punches the machine with her cast and winces, holding the cold can against her injured hand.)

JERICHO:

What you do to your arm?

ANNA:

Just broke.

JERICHO:

Life's funny like that.

(ANNA pops the top on her soda can and slurps up the fizz as she climbs into her seat.)

ANNA:

Punched the last pervert that fucked with me.

JERICHO:

Uh-huh. And I suppose that machine was giving you side-eye.

ANNA:

It knows what it did.

(ANNA has another slurp of her soda. Itches the cast.)

ANNA (cont):

I don't remember what happened; I just woke up like this.

JERICHO:

Hell of a wake-up call.

ANNA:

That's what they tell me.

(JERICHO turns the page of his magazine. ANNA turns the soda can in her hands. The washer continues to whir and thunk.)

ANNA (cont):

You know what the co-occurring unit is?

JERICHO:

You can go ahead and tell me.

ANNA:

It's where they put people with addiction issues and mental health issues. All you have to do is test positive and say you're suicidal. Which I'm not.

JERICHO:

Still here, ain't you?

ANNA:

Now I have to go to this halfway house, and they said you have to have clean laundry to get in. Like, they'll put their hands in your clothes to feel if they're warm from the dryer. Supposed to stop the bedbugs. Which I don't have.

JERICHO:

You nervous?

ANNA:

About bedbugs?

JERICHO:

'Bout all them other folks just got out the co-occurring unit, too.

ANNA:

So what?

JERICHO:

Well, when you ain't out punching perverts, maybe you nervous that if even the crazies don't like you, don't nobody will.

ANNA:

Fuck you, dude, you don't know me!

JERICHO:

Sure, won't take my hibiscus breeze or nothing.

(JERICHO turns the page of his magazine. ANNA fidgets with her soda can.)

ANNA:

I don't make friends easy.

JERICHO:

Can't find 'em? Or can't keep 'em?

ANNA:

Can't keep 'em, I guess. I piss people off.

JERICHO:

Maybe stop doing that. Time to stop punching shit when your arm's in a cast.

ANNA:

Some people are asking for a punch.

JERICHO:

Yeah, that pop machine had it coming.

ANNA:

Better at punching than making friends.

JERICHO:

Well, then, you know which one you gotta practice.

(The washer across from JERICHO buzzes. He puts down his magazine, gets to his feet, and opens the door.)

ANNA:

What if even the crazies don't like me?

(JERICHO starts moving clothes from the washer to a top-mounted dryer.)

JERICHO:

Put it to you this way: you can't decide if they like you or not. Came in here with a big 'fuck you' on your forehead, and I like you just the same. Ain't nothing you can do about it. What you can do is think about how you wanna act. Cause if you act a fool and nobody like you, your actions are proving them right. But if you act grown, and they still don't like you, now they're the asshole. Get it?

ANNA:

Not really.

JERICHO:

You will. People come into your life for a reason. The ones you like show you how to act, the ones you don't test your strength. Each new person you meet, think about the lesson they're teaching you. Try to be a better person having known them, whether they're assholes or not.

ANNA:

And they just get to keep being assholes?

JERICHO:

You know what a deuterostome is?

ANNA:

You can go ahead and tell me.

JERICHO:

When a little baby embryo is swimming toward life, it can be a protostome or a deuterostome. A protostome forms mouth-first, and everything else comes after. A deuterostome starts life as an asshole. Every single human in this world is a deuterostome.

ANNA:

We're all assholes.

JERICHO:

That is how we start. Now, which way do you want to grow?

(JERICHO has finished transferring his clothes and closes the dryer door. ANNA itches at her cast.)

ANNA:

Thanks, I guess.

JERICHO:

No problem.

(The lights flicker overhead. JERICHO carefully bends down and starts climbing into the washing machine. ANNA drops her soda can to roll and fizz on the floor as JERICHO disappears inside the round portal. The circle door slams shut in a hail of scattering quarters. ANNA's washer buzzes, and the neon laundromat is still.)