Cute — Meet

Elliot looked down. He did. He had no idea how long it had been there. He had walked through the entire laundromat, past the barista next door, and probably down the entire block with a fluttering white flag of incompetence trailing behind him.

For the next forty-five minutes, they folded laundry together. Or rather, Luna folded his laundry while telling him about her disastrous production of Peter Pan where the flying rig broke and Tinker Bell fell into the orchestra pit. Elliot found himself telling her about his obsession with tracking pigeon migration patterns in the city—a hobby he had never admitted to anyone, because it was deeply weird. Meet Cute

Elliot stood there, holding his lukewarm coffee, surrounded by neatly folded laundry and a puddle of fabric softener. Elliot looked down

“You killed my socks,” he said, because his brain had apparently short-circuited. He had walked through the entire laundromat, past

Her dryer buzzed. She had to go. She had a rehearsal for a play about a depressed broccoli who learns to love itself.

“I’m fine,” she announced to the room, even though no one had asked. “I meant to do that. It’s a new performance art piece called ‘Tuesday.’”