Do not count on me, reader, in endtimes. Whether it’s the zombie apocalypse, war, “a series of rapid percussions,” nuclear holocaust, the Mayans coming back to get us whatever, I don’t think I’m going to survive after the first few days without running water.
“I have water,” A boasted last night. “I took a long hot shower before I came here.”
“Bastard,” I said. “I’m gummy. I’m actually gummy. I think if you threw something at me it would stick to my filth.”
B threw a coaster at me.
“Do you still have water though?” asked C. “Because I had it for two hours and then it went away again.”
“We definitely didn’t have water when I left the house,” I offered. “I kept lifting the tap, mournfully, you know, and hoping. I wound up just swiping my important bits with a damp cloth. You’re all welcome.” B began giving me an elaborate sniff test. “Fuck off!”
“I heard it might not come back until Friday,” RM said. “Some kid on the street told me that today.”
“But the website says-”
“The website says it was supposed to be on six hours ago.”
“I was really hoping they’d have water here. I need to poop.”
“You know,” I said, “that is something that has totally been freaking me out? No one, not our bartender, not the guy who just sold B a kebab, no one at the grocery store- I mean NO ONE has been able to wash their hands properly in the last two days.”
“I did at work-”
“Like I said we had it for two hours today and I took a shower, I started a load of laundry, I cleaned the kitchen…”
“I can’t even go in our kitchen now. It’s awful. I think it would be better to burn it down.”
“Is this your first water cut?” C asked me.
“It’s my first of any length. I’m used to it going out for a few hours, usually when I’m late for work, but two days is- special, and I of course if they would just TELL you beforehand…”
“Yeah. We had a four day one last year. That was fun.”