The toothpaste on Ronald Gueyerer's upper lip is there for a reason
"Because of the dead people," he says. It covers the smell of decay - "Not that much. Just a little bit."
But that's the least of his worries - he has nothing left after his house collapsed. He's sleeping right in the middle of the street, along with his wife and his 14-month-old Jennifer.
"It's like a nightmare," he says. One with no end in sight.
But today - at least right here - there's water. Even with the two-hour plus wait, it's a relief. They've received no other help.
"This country - we don't have no government. It's just the strongest survive," Gueyerer says. "We just go, live for the day you live, you know? … Just like a jungle."
Along the side of the road, small markets have started to pop up, but this may not be a sign of recovery as much as it's proof of resilience.
People would like to buy food, one market seller says, but they don't have the money. They've lost everything.
On the mat next to her, Rose Berta has come to sell fruit.
"I've lost everything," she says. "Now I have to make a little money."
But rebuilding life here is not Rose's goal. She's trying to make enough money for a bus fare to join her family in another part of the country.
Survival here is a constant struggle - one that's even more acute at the Port-au-Prince municipal nursing home, where the living are not far from the dead.
There's no food, no water, and no medicine today for the 85 residents who've survived this long.
The priority here is to feed our elders, a man says, because they'll die of hunger.
It was heartening to see that water truck earlier today, but there was concern in the lines that it wasn't actually safe to drink.