It runs mostly cool, never cold. The water in space is too sweet, and it feels thicker on the tongue. It tastes like the rinse they gave you in the old dentist's offices on earth. It almost feels wrong to swallow it, and you do it quick, usually with your eyes closed. But you drink it; you have to. You get used to it. Just like all of the other stuff that keeps you alive out here.
Sometimes, one of the officers will bring a case of real water on board. If he decides to share any of it, it's like hitting the lottery. But unless you can get a steady supply, it's a damn poor trick to play on yourself. Your body remembers real quick what it has been missing, but it makes it a lot harder to go back to that thick, sweet stuff. Trust me, sometimes it is better just to say the hell with the real stuff. That's how you know the real spacers. The guys who live out here will pick the sweet stuff over the real thing every time. It's one of the few favors they can do for themselves.
It's messed up if you think about it. I've heard of spacers who turned down the chance to go back to earth for a few weeks. I guess they didn't want to have to go through it again. The new arrivals, the short-timers, they are the ones who jump at the chance to be normal again. But, it ain't really normal if there's a time limit on it. And after 14 days, here they are, back puking their guts out again while their bodies adjust to the air, the food and the water.
