She tapped a long fingernail on The New Yorker. Makes you too elite.

The woman slipped off the table and moved to the washer. “I’m getting my wash out of this one. You can use it,” she said. “I’m Dayvye. D-A-Y-V-Y-E. Work name is David, but I’m changing as you can see.”

THE LAUNDROMAT FRIEND BY CLAIRE NOONAN #47