This is saaad water, Pat said.
I peered down at him from the basement stairs as he stood on a higher landing where a shower in the basement had been installed years ago. Why anyone would want to shower in the basement next to a broken peach-colored toilet was beyond me, but so was the question since we’ve lived in the house for over a year – I’ve asked it before and found no reasonable answers.
The only thing to come out of that shower is murky, brown poo water which we both observed shimmering under the basement light like a rancid mouth with a single gold tooth.
“Move my clothes! Will you move my clothes?!” I panicked when I noticed the laundry I should have done a week ago was sucking the liquid like a sponge through the cloth hamper.
He jumped over the pond to the stairs and shimmed down again to a “dry” spot like a game of leap frog while moving the clothes to the washer. We didn’t get much from Irene – a few power flickers, heavy wind, downed tree branches and a street full of premature green leaves.
At lower levels, streams flooded streets, many are still without power; whole trees toppled over smashing cars. Lives have been lost, buildings collapsed, boats and boardwalks shattered. If this is the worst for us, our basement of poo water, I’ll take the compliment and laugh.
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