So when you turn on the tap here, the water comes out into whatever receptacle you put it into with a kind of white froth on the top.
I am not really squeamish, and I feel like the Britta filter, in my incompetent hands, is more of a problem than a solution because I never change the filter and so wind up drinking little charcoal particles. Still, lines must be drawn, and the foam is starting to get to me, as is the guy who talked to me about the blisters on his hand and the kid with a staph infection.
Do I care? Should I care? I dropped my tuna sandwich on the ground today and picked it up and ate it. These are some of the core principles of my upbringing, and I stand by them. Nevertheless, every now and then I think I should care more.
Now, I guess, would be a time to wonder about my absolute phobia of infesting bugs: lice, bed bugs, etc. All those teeming masses. When I am very anxious I wake up in the middle of the night convinced that I have bed bugs and I tear the covers apart hunting for imaginary bugs.
Sometimes, here, the whole city smells vaguely of manure. It's not as bad as it sounds, the effect, but it's a little strange, because at first you think it's something specific that happened near you, but instead it's just a product of the direction the wind is blowing.