We have just cleaned the lavatory.

The faucet is leaking.

Dad often describes farmers as glorified lavatory attendants.

Water spouted from the broken faucet.

And then the faucet is a beer tap.

We just flush all this water down the lavatory, it's terrible.

You can't use this faucet. It's out of order.

We couldn't use the faucet because it was out of order.

Then, this faucet here is just a piece of Osage orange.

The water coming from the faucet is strange. It has a good smell.

But when I tried to turn the shower faucet, this black bubbly liquid came out.

You turn a faucet and there is warm water and cold water, and drinkable water.

And the bigger picture is we need to find a way to turn off the faucet.

On one particular occasion, one of the guards threw a grenade into the prisoners' lavatory while it was full of prisoners.

There's water in the pot. When we turn the faucet, we can hear the sound of running water.

Did I leave the faucet running, or is the apartment getting more weepy? I thought it would cope all right.

And so, really, so much of what we do in medicine and life in general is focused on mopping up the floor without also turning off the faucet.

We turn on the faucet, the water comes out, we assume it's safe, and we assume that we are masters of our environment, rather than being part of it.