On one of my city strolls, I got surprised by the rain. When the first drops hit my head, I started jogging, because I assumed that around the corner there was a roof covering the pavement. When I reached the corner, I saw that I was wrong: the roofs were further up. No escape. Drops became drizzle and drizzle turned into rain. And there it was: a launderette, a couple of meters away from me, open to everyone. I fled into its dry interior. Loud music came through, alternative rock and New age. I took a seat on one of the stools at the elevated table, facing the window and listened to some songs until they played Enya’s ‘sail away’. It reminded me that I will leave Australia soon. That was still a little surreal to me. In some weeks I would be gone. People in their twenties came in and out. A guy in a checkered shirt and skinny jeans was sitting behind me on the loungy couch that seemed to belong to a cafe bar more than to a launderette. I started browsing through some newspapers and postcard flyers and laughed about the slogan «laundry today or naked tomorrow». In a glossy magazine I found a fashion article that wanted to sell Jeans with the headline ‘even cowgirls get the blues’. The music got a little trancier, now. I stared into the rain, feeling a little like a cowgirl myself, thinking that this launderette might symbolize my life: People come in and out, few stay, while I am just waiting for the right moment – for the rain to stop – to find new adventures.