Opportunity knocks
Quarter to nine, my eyes fly open. Morning already? And what’s that noise?
Alarm clock, and not mine.
Padding around the apartment, near as I can figure, it belongs to the guy downstairs. Which means, he’s not home. (Or, I suppose, drugged unconscious or dead, both of which can also be described as not being home.)
I can choose to be annoyed that the first good night’s sleep in a week has been terminated by an unattended alarm clock, or I can take the opportunity to crank the stereo with impunity.
I choose the latter.
