I live on the last floor. Repair of the roof. Heat of 32 degrees. I enter the entrance, an elevator arrives, and two workers run into the cabin with me. Poor and exhausted. We go to the ninth floor, I see something they want to say. We arrive, and one decides to ask for water. Of course, I say, drag the canister, on the roof is hell. They were so delighted and then told that six residents refused to enter. The counters, bl@t, have them!