In the kitchen, the cold water tap was dripping into the bottom of the stainless steel sink, a heavy rhythm echoing off the yellow walls.

Max hung his leather jacket over the back of a chair and crouched down by the open sink cabinet.

“This drip is going to ruin the subfloor.”

“I haven’t had the money to hire a plumber,” I said.

“You don’t need a plumber,” Max said, pulling an adjustable wrench out of his back pocket.

“You just need somebody who knows how to turn a valve.”

He reached into the dark space under the pipes, his knuckles working against the brass fitting.