The sleeping arrangement was simple. Age and respect dictated that my parents sleep on the beds. Since I was a guest, Todd determined that I should sleep on the couch. My brother was left with the remaining alternative, which was an inflatable air mattress and a sleeping bag. The nights brought out humor which came from bizarre circumstances. Several hours after lying down, Todd's air mattress had deflated to the point of nonexistence and, bone meeting floor, he had no choice but to inflate the mattress once again. Slow expirations, sounding akin to a distant steam engine, would resound into the night. Mom, understanding what had happened, listened to the steady, "Puff...puff...puff..." and would have laughed had it not been for the fact that she pitied Todd and did not wish to waken my dad or myself. At exactly 4:00 a.m., the church, standing directly beside Todd's apartment building, would begin a horrid serenade in chimes. Approximately every other note was sour, yet the noise continued until the tune was completed. Todd explained that the person who set the clock mistook the four o'clock a.m. setting for the afternoon setting...hence the "ungodly" serenade. A final recollection regarding the overnight occurrences in Todd's apartment is, admittedly, rather hazy. Having a preoccupation with the shelves by day, it was no shock to find myself sleep walking to them in the middle of the night, searching for my pillow. My walk might not have been discovered by Todd or remembered by me had it not been for the row of metal canisters which flanked the base of the shelves, for in my futile search (my pillow had never strayed from the couch), I bumped my foot into one of the pots, which gonged loudly against a second and third to create a symphony of echoes. Flustered by the rude interruption, I nearly woke, and can recall my brother's sleepy, "Is there something wrong?" to which I mumbled an explanation of my hunt. The next morning I looked suspiciously at the shelves and was haunted by a memory for which I could not account and therefore inquired of the night's events, asking if I had walked in my sleep. "Oh, yeh..., I couldn't figure out what you were doing!" Todd said. I reflected over my strange habit and wondered whether I had walked elsewhere on different occasions, and because I encountered no one, did not remember or was not informed. It was slightly disconcerting yet immensely humorous; I only hoped that I would never take a walk which lead me out of a building, because I remembered the tale of a young man who, while sleeping, took out the garbage cans and then completed his slumber on the grass beside the curb. It was a humbling thought, for although a sleeping individual cannot be responsible for what he says or does, one's lack of consciousness will not guard the individual from accompanying embarrassment.