The hot water isn’t working again—the third time this has happened in as many weeks. Sweaty and smelly from a workout, I tried to convince myself to jump in the shower anyway, cold be damned. I actually spoke out loud as I did this, saying, “You have been beamed here from the third century. You have been transported to this very bathroom, in Brooklyn, where you have discovered a magical fountain of water that flows on demand. Surely you, a person from the third century, want more than anything to stand beneath this magical fountain of water.”
Surely I did not, and did not. Instead I boiled a pot of water and used this to wash the “essential” places, a list of which I will spare you.
A man signs a shovel and so he digs.
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