Red barn walls lead to a wire mesh fence where that cock sits upright spewing ca-ca-dool ca-ca-dool ’til exactly the break of morning crashes through the gates almost drunk from the night before.

Son of a bitch. Nothing left but the toss and turn on the down pillow, and try to cover from the broken light eating through the shades.

But can you put off morning one more minute? Or are we doomed to wake up?