He huddled under the sink, in the dark, listening to the drips from the faucet over his head.
Drip! Drip! Double drip!
The sequence of the drops continued mocking him, with no respect, as their sound was birthing a headache.
He examined the worn and flapping tread on his shoes -- Ouch!-- hurting his head on water-pipes in the process. Climbing to the roof didn’t seem a good option.
Maybe, I could mail myself out with the post? A postcard-from-the-edge? His light chuckle didn’t sound very convincing.
What sort of woman, he marveled, doesn’t know when her husband is coming home?