Ray, for the sixth or seventh time this week, had to traverse the sewer beneath the factories/slum district, trying to get to the 87th Street pump station. It had broken down again, and Ray had a good inclination why. Someone from the apartment above kept flushing trash; things like empty bottles, glass, bits of cardboard and wood, any matter of stuff ended up going down the river. He sighed, adjusted his tool-belt and respirator, both graciously supplied by his higher-ups, and started towards 87th, which didn't have an access way in the first place.