by Mike Sabine

And the water flows

A man came to my door the other day to announce that my water service, even though the water still flowed when I turned the tap, was cut off. 

 So I gave my loyal housekeeper Flor a hundred córdobas and a copy of the electric bill to identify the landlord’s name which the account was under and off she marched to restore my uninterrupted service. She returned to announce that this account couldn’t be found.

So I rifled through the series of manila envelopes in a Corona Beer box that serve as this publication’s filing system and found the last two water bills I paid. See, I said, same name. No, she pointed out rather exasperatedly, they’re reversed.  Like John Smith and Smith, John. No wonder they couldn’t find it.