There’s a point when living in a funky but older apartment complex ceases to be charming. That point for me was this morning, either when the rusty, hot water cut-off valve under my bathroom sink broke off in my hand, shooting 100psi jet of scalding water into my chest (see fig a). Or, it could have been when I was running barefoot down Enfield in 30 degree weather looking for the cut-off valve for the whole complex, thereby robbing my neighbors of their morning showers but also stemming the wave of water cascading out of the bathroom.
I’ve decided that my family as a whole needs to start honoring, or doing whatever it is you do to the Patron saint of plumbers Vincent Ferrer. We seem to be cursed by faulty or freezing pipes on a more the regular basis than most folks. That, or I just do a shitty job picking out apartments. Regardless, please pardon my brevity as I have to go put all my belongings up on blocks now.