Sweet Rush: Dirty Little Diaries
The second we turned the corner into his hallway we saw the open door and the small cluster of people already inside.
The landlord, a man in his mid-fifties, a permanent scowl, and clipboard in hand, looked up the moment Nate stepped into view.
“There you are,” he said, like Nate had been deliberately avoiding him. “I was about to call you. Plumber’s finishing up now. Burst pipe under the sink, like you said. We shut the water off to the unit, replaced the section, and tested it. You’re good. No structural damage, just a mess on the floor.”
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