I followed a woman that looked a lot like my mom (smaller butt, long brown hair). I watched her pull armloads of pants, shirts, underwear and sheets from one of the machines. She heaped them in a pile on a long folding table and then went back to the giant machine.
She crouched and entered it. It was really big. I guess she had to peel off the stuff that got stuck to the back.
I took my chances and I grabbed what I wanted from the table. I wanted anything blue, not pink. Not purple. Then I ducked into an open machine to change. That’s right. These machines were bigger than the closets at our old apartment.
I was fast. Fast like “you have five minutes, Nick, before we have to leave for your ballgame” not fast like “the school bus will be here soon, you don’t want to miss it, do you?”
I hurried to one of the small windows that looked out toward a fading sunset.
Huh? This was weird. I wasn’t the only sloppy dressed kid trying to escape this place. Dozens of other kids were jumping out. They were landing on the loose dirt and sand-surfing down the steep hillside. Most were in clothes too baggy or too tight. Lots of pink among the girls.
I wiggled through the opening and did the same surfing run down the hill. My arms flapped at my sides as I tried to keep my balance. Everyone was running away from the building. No one was yelling or screaming, not even the girls. Super weird. It felt just like something was chasing us, but when I looked back all I saw was the red wall of that strange place. Suddenly, everything was dark.