The Laundromat
It was quite an operation. Lookouts on walkie-talkies patrolled the roofline, and a scout on a bike pedaled up and down the block, combing 7th Street between Avenues B and C. A guy in a ski mask stood guard at an open window on one of the apartment building’s upper floors, ready to service the growing line on the sidewalk below. We never knew from which floor or which window he’d appear, they were always mixing it up to avoid getting busted. It may not even have been the same person, but each night someone was there, looking out the window in the building in New York’s East Village, eyes peering out from holes in the dark-knit mask. He’d lower a basket, the plastic kind used for hot dogs and... Read more...
