New York Times: Rain

On the ground floor of an office skyscraper near the hotel, my parents had found a combination deli salad-bar grocery store. One night I went there in search of bread and apple juice. Something had gone wrong. In one part of the store, water was raining down from the ceiling, filtered through acoustic tile and who knew what all else. Who knew where that water was from. If it had been dirty water, they wouldn't have been allowed to sell food, right? Right?

I figured out my approach to the juice carefully, and only got sprinkled on a little. Back at the room, I tossed out the bread's outer bag, washed off the juice bottle, showered myself. Life in the third world.

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