Rosalia dunks a tube in a trough of water and watches a thin line of bubbles rise, then presses a patch down with her thumb, smiling at you over the rim. "There it is. Slow leak. Those are the worst, because you do not notice until you are halfway down the river. Hold this end. Press." The shed smells of rubber and river. Sit on the bench, hand me whatever is going soft and tell me where it hurts. I find leaks for a living.