Saturday, May 11


Whenever I feel lonely, I call someone to fix my washing machine.
A guy arrives with a big toolbox, his voice sounds strange and husky, his name sounds like Antoine.
Antoine finds his way to my bathroom and sits down on the floor. He looks at me, then looks at the machine, then asks me what the problem is. I hesitate before I tell him the truth; the terrible truth which I’ve been trying to deny. “My machine doesn’t seem to clean my clothes.” Antoine smiles, he understands my problems, he understands that this is very serious. He opens his toolbox while I make him coffee. He gets out his tools, opens the machine, tells me what the situation is. “Your filters were clogged,” he explains. “But I’ve fixed that now. Do you have some old towels, so I can clean these water drops on the floor?” I hand him his coffee and some old towels. Antoine cleans my floor. Life makes sense again.