He does his laundry on Sunday nights. Last Sunday night, he smelled smoke. He thought it was his lovely log fire. When he finally went downstairs to the basement to unload his laundry, he was amazed to see smoke pouring out of the washing machine. Flame circulated round and round inside it. It was only 18 years old.
All eight pairs of underpants, four shirts, four string vests and three drip-dry slacks were burned to ash. He has nothing to wear. It's depressing because he knows from past experience that he won't be able to find exact replacements.
An old woman is asking people to dance. Harry loves eccentrics. He begins to giggle as she starts to sing. Then to his surprise, people join in.
Harry just happens to have a bottle of whisky in his briefcase, and plastic cups. You never know when there will be a party.
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