It's almost 9 p.m. and I've been in bed attempting to get some ever-elusive sleep for a while now. Doesn't look like it's about to happen so I hop out, grab my laptop and begin mentally crafting my first line for my blog post. And while I'm doing that the building fire alarm goes off. This not only means that I have to jump out of my PJs and into more respectable attire (although any well-trained foreigner knows that you've got to drop everything and run -- embarassing nightware or not) but also that I'm now expected to run down 16 floors, stuffed sinuses, weak-willed, and what not. Sure, that's going to happen. So, like any self-respecting foreigner I touch the door knob (feels cool enough), look for smoke under my door, peer out of the window for signs of smoke in the next building, and hop back into bed. The alarm's still shouting at me to quit this path of least resistance, the fire trucks downstairs seem to be saying the same thing, and I'm having one of my best existential crises in a long time.

Time to peer out one more time.

DAMN I gotta go.