Water
All I'd had to eat that day was fried clam strips, lots of them, so as I climbed the stairs to my apartment that hot August evening, the churning I felt in my stomach was not the usual "why am I 25 and college educated and working as a waitress at a crappy seafood place and living in an unairconditioned apartment in the middle of a central Florida summer." No, the feeling I had in my gut on this day was much simpler and much more urgent. I unlocked the door and ran straight to the bathroom. The windowless room was explosively hot; airless and close like a panic. I felt nauseous. The clam strips could wait half a second while I splashed my face in the sink, and that's when I realized there was no water. I looked around desperately, the pressure building in my stomach. There was no way I could do what I was about to do in a toilet that wouldn't flush and leave it there for my roommate Susan to find when she came home. Our cat sauntered in and scratched leisurely...