บท 132: Caleb Turner. Marks and Bruises

Tamara and I get ready for our first nap in our new apartment. After lightly washing my face with the preserved water in the kitchen bucket, I change my dirtied clothes and jeans into more comfortable wear. I would have liked to wash my whole body—a shower would do wonders to this prickly feeling all over my skin—but, of course, with the power still out, none of the taps run, including our shower. After Tamara has changed into her own sleeping gown, we dive into a pile of our unpacked moving boxes in search of clean sheets. 

"Don't forget, blanket," Tamara reminds me. "With the heater off, it's bound to get cold whilst we sleep." 

I grab a few white bedsheets—still brand new and unopened in their plastic packagings—and a few bundles of blankets and join Tamara in our bedroom. She's sitting on the floor, holding up a hand-held mirror in one hand and a wet wipe in the other. She wipes away the remnants of the night with the wet wipe.