The Curse of Rain in Lisbon and the Pile of Laundry to Iron
You wake up, look out the window, and see that wet grayness that seems to have been ordered by the Association of Sad Clotheslines. The laundry you washed on Tuesday is still damp, smelling musty and with more wrinkles than a condo meeting. Meanwhile, the pile of shirts to iron grows like a monthly subscription you never asked for. If there's one thing that goes with Lisbon, it's the hiss — not the neighborhood, but the sound of the iron steaming...