‘Sorry about that, Kojak,’ Rex said. ‘Forgot to tell ya, we keep the detergent in the office these days. People nick it otherwise, snort the stuff, get high – I dunno, kids these days.’

He reached into his basket, poured a sprinkling of snowy-white powder into Manolis’s machine like it was fairy dust.

‘On the house,’ he said.

Manolis smiled his gratitude before encountering a second challenge: loose change for the coin-operated machines. All he had were notes and small silvery shrapnel, five and ten cent pieces.

‘Actually, these machines are old school, they take special tokens,’ Rex said, reaching into his back pocket. ‘We also sell ’em at the office, a dollar a pop. My shout again.’

Rex’s wallet was leather, thick, much-loved, bursting with business cards and shop receipts. With a light metallic crash, he emptied the contents of the coin pouch into a heavily creased palm. Finding a token, he held it up between a stubby index finger and thumb.

‘Cheers,’ said Manolis, letting it drop into his soapy, slippery hand.

The token was a shiny copper colour, much like a dollar coin and also about the same size and weight. But the edge was smooth, unlike a ridged dollar. Manolis found himself studying it for some time. It looked somehow familiar.

‘Sorry about last night,’ Rex said. ‘Ma can go on.’

Manolis gave a noncommittal grunt, distracted.

‘But I’m glad I found that camp photo for you,’ Rex added. ‘Hopefully it’s a nice new memory of your dad. I know I really appreciate when people show me photos of my kids that I’d never seen before. It takes me back.’

‘I love it, thank you.’

Rex turned, began loading his linen into the nearest machine with some endeavour, the sheets tangled into unwieldy balls.

Manolis looked again at the contents of his palm, absorbed by the gleam of the token.

‘Do any other machines in town use these tokens?’

It was a question that seemed to come from nowhere; Manolis hadn’t seen a local laundromat.

Rex appeared to find the query strange but remained preoccupied, still fumbling to load his laundry.

‘Other what, other machines? No. No other machines.’

There was a long pause.

‘Oh,’ Manolis said. ‘Right.’

After Rex finished emptying his basket, he searched his wallet for another token. Manolis stood motionless a moment, garbage bag at his feet, eyes on the old proprietor.

‘What’s up, mate?’ Rex asked. ‘Forget something?’

Manolis gave him a full stare, then blinked hard.

‘Actually, I think I have,’ he said, peering into his bag. ‘I can’t see my fitted white shirt here. It’s brand new, Italian. You know us wogs, our fashion. I think I know where I left it, in my cabin, behind the bathroom door. Back in a minute.’

He turned and left the laundry, footfalls crunching along the dirt path.