Last May, our hot-water heater broke. One day our shower worked fine, and the next day it was impossible to find a middle ground between scalding and freezing. Weirdly we didn’t immediately alert our landlord. I think we kept assuming it was a fluke, and then realizing, over and over, that it wasn’t. That first week I spent every shower pressed against the tile wall, poking my limbs in tentatively, adjusting the temperature (futile), and then willing myself to just “dunk,” catching as much of the narrow window between scorching and glacial as I could.
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