Chapter 3Saturday morning saw Devante in his underwear and white tank top, smacking the side of the washing machine in the tiny room off the kitchen and praying: his usual laundry day routine. The ancient machine, thankfully, decided to be cooperative, and it rumbled to life with an ominous creak.
The dryer, thankfully, although just as old, was much more pleasant, and in an hour Devante had a basket full of his father’s workout clothes and his own brightly-colored shirts and dark jeans, washed so many times there was no risk of color bleed in either direction. Devante lugged the basket into the living room and went back to start a load of sheets and pillowcases, both their beds stripped after breakfast that morning. While that load cycled through, he got started folding and sorting the c
