Quarter in, harlequin cloths spiral in the water and soap. The third load grips an unadorned housewife to a stand. Her repeatable manner pausing as she sees a white sock in the display of color. She turns off the wash and gathers the soaked pink and blue small dresses into her wrinkled hands, dropping them into the puddle that was forming on the broken tiles. She kneels and plucks the sock like a feather, removing it from the arduous motif.