The counter, photographed
The counter sits in Old Town Bellingham; the work runs wherever the old wagon roads went — every city neighborhood, then north through Ferndale and Lynden to the border at Blaine. The figure reads the same at every door.
Dryers, washers and refrigerators fill most of the book, so each town keeps a page per machine — local patterns, local answers, one all-found figure.
Almost certainly — the map's edges are soft where the roads are good. Sixty seconds on the phone settles it, and settled means the same slate as everyone.
They ride scheduled runs plus every gap the day offers — and cold emergencies ignore geography entirely. What no stop ever gets is a different figure.
Worth calling. The book bends for neighbors when the route allows, and the counter says yes or no honestly rather than keeping you guessing.
One call confirms the window — and the figure that doesn't care about the drive.
Phone reaches a person through the working day; the form works after hours. Either way the callback comes with a real window, not a maybe.
Mon–Fri 8–7 · Sat 9–3 · a warming refrigerator takes the day's first opening
