At three-thirty I was first in line at the timeclock, second out the gate, and fourth or fifth to line up at the National Bar. "Aspirin and ginger ale," I ordered, and got a knowing grin from the barkeep. Laugh, buddy. You may think I feel bad now, but wait and see what happens to your bangbox. I dare someone to put in a nickel; I double-dare you. That's it--pick a good number from one to twenty and go back to your stool and sit down. Take it easy, now, Pete. Don't strain, don't press, no slugging in the clinches, and break clean. The place needs a good airing, anyway, and the floor could use a new broom, too. Bubble, bubble, go for double ... no more music. No more noise. Smoke, you boiler factory, smoke! Hey, somebody, pull that plug. Not that one, _that_ one. Pull it out. Pull it out! _Pull it out!_ * * * * * Finally someone did pull it out, someone chattered excitedly into the telephone, and I slid out the front door when the fire engines were wailing blocks away. Coincidence, hey. And cold sober, too. I stood on the curb and watched the firemen dash in and straggle out. Dirty trick to break up a pinochle game in weather like this. Four red-eyed crimson giants snorted and whined their blunt noses back into the clogged traffic, back to wait another call. Three buses were sentinels at the safety zone, and one of them took me home to dinner. This was on a Friday, the night for the Olsens, next door, to have their weekly sangerbund. When Helen shook me into wakefulness the party was going strong. "Pete, will you wake up? You know perfectly well when you hear me!" Yes, I heard her. "What time is it?" "Never mind what time it is. You go over there and tell them you're going to call the police if they don't turn off that radio--" I yawned. "After two o'clock." "Almost two-thirty. You just get up and--" I laughed out loud, as loud as you can laugh at that time of the morning. "Roll over and go back to sleep," I told her. "They'll shut it off in a minute." I shut my sleepy lids and went through the deep breath routine. The radio stopped. Then an afterthought; this was Friday, and I wanted to sleep late on a Saturday unsullied and unwelcomed by soap operas. Another deep breath, complicated by a yawn, and I went back to sleep. * * * * * Over our coffee Helen pulled aside the kitchen curtain. "I thought there was some reason I didn't wake up until ten. Look across the street," and she pointed. In front of the Olsen's, a red panel truck, Chuck's Radio Service. Next door, in front of the Werner's, Harper Radio Parts. In the Smith's driveway, Rapid Radio Repair. "What are you grinning at?" "Me? I'm not grinning. Not at this time of the morning." "Pete Miller, you were, too. Just like the cat that ate the fish." "Canary, you mean." "That's what I said. What's so funny?" "Nothing," I said. "We just got a good night's sleep for a change. I like my sleep."