Then our pipes were not generous enough to offer even the optimism that the hiss once provided.
One by one, the taps sputtered and stopped with a gurgling rattle, the rushing sound of water replaced by the hollow hiss of empty plumbing. The tap heads have since turned moldy, they spin without purchase when turned. What of the pipes? They became home to critters and burrowing creatures. We never expected that the water would not flow. But that was a long time ago.
Water however, like we say, “e no get enemy”, all must use it. And so enter the water sellers.
They fetch it, in rubber kegs and huge motorised water tanks, they peddle the essence of life. The green grocers at the local market are glad to see them. The bean cake maker with her stand on the street corner relies on them. Homes must have their warm baths, and so patronise them. The city, like nature, abhors a vacuum, and has evolved this curious conduit for its purposes, inconvenient as it is.
Time has passed, and we have long forgotten the leaky pipes, seeing as we are now accustomed to the water seller’s creaky cart. Here is another mystery, a modern oddity, where the crude and inefficient has become life support for the supposedly sophisticated.