716 Fenimore street was either a ticking-time bomb or land-bound cruise ship planted in a cement slab.
There was a five-hundred gallon oil tank buried underneath the two-car garage and a ton of cement. It would take a diamond-bit saw to cut a hole big enough to service it.
And the boiler room behind the fire-proof door filled an entire room, barely leaving enough space for a pre-teen to crawl around.
There was enough tension from four separate families living in one address all at the same time. People came and went all the time, roaches remaining. Sometimes imaginary, family lines would be crossed.