Mike O'Brien had been fixing pipes for twenty-three years.
He knew every water main beneath Brooklyn. He knew which streets had pipes that rattled when it rained, which buildings had pipes that groaned in winter, which tunnels had been patched so many times that the patches had become the pipes. He did not know the tunnel beneath the condemned building on Myrtle Avenue. He knew this because he had never seen it before that Tuesday in October. It was...
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