To Wash or Not to Wash

Between the 20th and the 28th of June there is no hot water in some parts of Moscow. So here I am in this old clattered charmingly in disorder and despair kitchen, boiling water in pots and the kettle is whistling not for tea as you would suspect in Russia but for more water for my standing washing exercise. I pour the hot water in a greyish blue basin adding some cold not to scald my self with my soapy hand towel. Then I proceed to the rinsing.
I have decided against the turbulent effort and messy circumstances of washing my hair. My hair is like a paste, a greyish pommade and feels like the tail of the wretched soaking dog hair.


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