Almost like living in a trailor park...

There are certain expectations one has for their home. One of those is running water. Last night, after post-work pitchers of sangria at Park, followed by beers and cigs on the rooftop at the Delancey, I arrived home to find no running water. No warning, just a note which miraculously appeared on the front door between 8pm and 1am. At this point, I immediately regretted smoking all those cigs, cause there was no way to brush my teeth, or evade the looming hangover. (My usually evening remedy is 3 Advil chased with a tall pint of water).

This morning, I awoke at 5:30am to a splintering headache and swamp breath. Since the water was supposed to turn back on at 5am, half asleep I brushed my teeth and chased 3 Advil with a big glass of water.

At 8am after seeing the state of the brackish, rusted water coming from my pipes, I am waiting for the inevitable stomach cramps from drinking unclean water. I should have remembered to let the water run, flushing the pipes clean, but again it was dark - I was half asleep and I'm sure to completely regret it...