I can hear Shoshana Katz shouting from the lobby of the gym. She screams a couple of words I can’t repeat here, and I eventually find her standing — long brown hair piled into a messy bun, white leggings and tank top damp with sweat — in the women’s bathroom. At her feet, a giant puddle seeps across the concrete floor. There’s brown stuff bobbing in the water, and the air smells like a clogged toilet.

It’s 8:49 a.m. on a Wednesday in May, and there’s sewage everywhere. Again.

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