I'm sure there are plenty of water misers in town, but after a seriously squishy step on the grassy strip along the sidewalk outside my place of employment, I am reminded of the surplus of water hogs in the city.
To wit: 'Round lunchtime Monday, the butterfly lady and I passed the Mill Creek Brew Pub and saw that the sprinklers had been running so long that water was slopping off the saturated lawn and into the storm drain a few feet away. This in a town in the southeast Washington prairie (a beautifully windblown, vowel-laden word for proto-desert).
Water belongs in a pool, not on asphalt.
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