Thursday, August 2, 2007

The same theme, continued



I was in a conference room with other people high above Bunker Hill talking about rain. About how it never rains. About how we wish it would rain. About the El NiƱo years when it rained in biblical quantities.

Now the rain has stopped. I've begun to get queasy when I see things like a car repair shop attendant hosing down the floor of his garage, or six people and their cars, side by side in the 24-hour do-it-yourself car wash on Colorado, or the sprinklers chugging away across the neighborhood as I go out to retrieve the paper. Where's the water coming from? It can't go on like this.

The geniuses at the DWP better have something good in the works.

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