In my twenties, I lived in a crummy garden-style apartment. It didn't even have central air, which is unusual for Atlanta.
One Saturday, I woke up to about an inch of water in my closet. Apparently, the aging water heater had reached the end of its life. I immediately called the maintenance guy, Rex, and he came right out.
When Rex and I went downstairs to see if my downstairs neighbor, a young doctor, had experienced any water intrusion, we discovered that the answer was yes.
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