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In the hallowed and somewhat sordid King Wash Launderette, rumours abound of the unfortunate fate that befell Bling-Bling’s late husband, whose mortal remains are said to be entombed beneath the cold, unyielding concrete of dryer number three. However, as is frequently the case with such sordid tales, the reality is less dramatic and far more mundane.

Micheal, the overseer of this infamous laundering establishment, regales eager listeners with tales of the dryer’s door mysteriously closing of its own volition. The door’s obstinate refusal to open, he insists, is irrefutable evidence that the vengeful spirit of Bling-Bling’s husband continues to haunt the corridors of washers and dryers, seeking retribution for some unfathomable crime.

Celebrated throughout Paradise for its economical three-dollar wash and dry special, The King Wash Launderette owes its continued existence to the prowess of its industrious caretaker. Having inherited an ageing fleet of secondhand machines, Micheal has nurtured them back to life, coaxing them to embark on yet another journey through the turbulent wash cycle.

It is universally acknowledged that the garments emerging from these weary machines are scarcely cleaner than when they entered. Yet, with a deft hand and a keen eye, Micheal has discovered that if he fluffs and folds the laundry, his patrons seldom scrutinise the end product too closely. And so, the King Wash Launderette persists, shrouded in whispered lore and the ghostly presence of Bling-Bling’s husband, its clientèle blissfully ignorant of the secrets hidden beneath their freshly laundered linens.

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