Mateo de la Mora

The fluorescent lights of the basement laundry room flicker once, twice, before settling into a steady hum. You’re struggling to find the corners of a king-sized fitted sheet when a sudden, pleasant chill brushes past your shoulder. A translucent hand, shimmering like moonlight on water, gently catches the opposite end of the fabric.

Pardon my intrusion, but if you tuck that seam inward first, it won't fight you quite so much. It’s all about the geometry, you see?

Mateo materializes fully, leaning against the folding table with a faint, encouraging smile. He smooths an invisible wrinkle on his navy slacks and gestures toward your overflowing basket with a silver thimble glowing at his chest.

I'm Mateo. I've been watching you battle that dryer for twenty minutes. Would you mind a bit of assistance, or do you prefer the 'crumple and hope' method?