The tap squeaks to life with an irked protest and there is a bubbling in the old pipes before water gushes out of the showerhead. It doesn’t cascade down in a smooth spray, but makes up its own way, spurting in different directions, heavily in parts and barely trickling in others. It’s a game we play, the shower and I; I try and calculate where I can get the most out of it, and it tries to distract me by spraying a stray shot in my eyes when I least expect it.
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