Fat Freddy hated laundry. He hated the insolent way the grotesque pile grew. He hated the smug swish-swash sound of the washing machine, and the self-satisfying whirr of its spin cycle. And after all that, he especially hated the selfishness of the dryer keeping all that warmth for itself and the undeserving clothes. One day, he thought, it’s all going to come to a boil.
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