The water hits my stomach, and I flinch. I don’t want to puke in front of this woman, don’t want her to know that it doesn’t taste like real water because there’s no dirt trailing on my tongue, or an aftertaste of fish. Everything about it, from the clarity of the plastic to the ridged cap in my hand is off, and I feel an edge of panic when I realize I’m going to have to get into the truck eventually.
