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brown leather coach purse Archive Suchita Shah[from "Water" by Pablo Neruda, Chilean poet].I turn on the kitchen tap but no water flows. Surprised, and a little confused, I go to the bathroom nothing. The shower dry. Then I recall the notice seen earlier in the hotel lift. Something in Spanish about a water shortage. Some vague emails circulated this morning about Santiago's water supplies being cut off for the day. Must be that, I think to myself. Oh well, only a few hours. Can't be that bad. At least I have electricity.A few minutes later, I want to wash my hands. It is nearly 30 degrees and I have been out and about all morning. I also want to take a shower, maybe fill the kettle, brush my teeth, flush the loo, rinse vegetables to cook for lunch. But all those things require a precious commodity that, for the next 10 hours, I will not possess. I decide to venture out to equip myself with bottled water.Remarkably, the fountain outside my hotel is in full flow. A homeless man washes himself in it with abandon, relinquishing his few belongings to the street, whilst I clutch my handbag fiercely, warnings of pickpockets ringing in my head. I feel slightly ashamed. It dawns on me that, today, we are all the unwashed. Rich, poor, cuicos, hobos, gringos, all equal in our filth, sweat, and humanness. I may attempt to deny or buy my way out of it, with perfume and bottled water, but the evidence speaks against me.The street dogs of Santiago are smart, I think. They've sniffed out the territory and know where the supplies are at. It's only people like us who go to the supermarket and feel surprised when the shelves are empty. People