For the rest of my life, I'll remember that I was in a laundromat in Harlem when Barack Obama, our first black president, danced with his wife to "At Last."

A woman behind me was folding laundry from the dryer with tears running down her face.

Another woman and her daughters were cheering Beyonce, who was singing the song, and musing at how magical the first couple looked.

The small room of machines, soap, and strangers held so much warmth and promise. My laundry wasn't the only that left feeling refreshed.