I recall the time at a laundromat in Hollywood when a man was washing women’s underwear. They were drying, pink and violet and black and lace going round and round. As he plucked each dainty out of the dryer he’d try it on. Well, the brassieres he tried on. The panties he held in place in front of him and gazed in the mirror, seeing something we couldn’t see. Then he’d fold each item carefully and slip it into a bag, return to the dryer and start the performance all over again.




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