It's 1:07 in the morning, a time I don't usually see anymore, though I once considered it a fairly early time to go to bed, back in the days before the 9-to-5. Lately if I am awake, it's usually because I need to pee or am getting home from a hot date with K. No such luck this morning. This morning I was awakened by an exploding SUV.

Okay, that's hyperbole. I was awakened by someone pounding on the neighbor's door, yelling for everyone to get out. Other muddled voices cried out, I think someone shouted for the door-knocker to get lost, a dog started to bark. This isn't surprising. The neighbors in the two houses south of me act like this when the weather gets warm. They come home drunk, fighting and cursing, or drag the T.V. out onto the porch to watch the Pistons with the sound cranked up (so I don't miss a free throw). I'm kind of scared of the teenagers - they come and go so much that I'm not sure who belongs over there. My neighbors burn shit in the backyard. They have a lot of burnable shit, all over the porch and in the thirteen sheds in the backyard. This time something was burning in the front yard.

"The ___ is on fire!" I heard the door-knocker yell. There was a word in that ___ spot, but it was unintelligible - house, apartment, Bronco, something. I rolled over to see my mini blinds glowing orange. Fire. Some reptilian remnant of my brain comprehended and started moving my body out of the bed before the language sub-routine came online. I looked out between the slats to see a blaze eight feet high and looking like it could consume a national forest. I couldn't really tell what was on fire, but it looked like the porch of the second house over. Shit, I thought. All that shit's gonna catch fire.

Followed by: My house next. Something exploded. My heart beat in my throat.

Neighbors burst through the door in nighties or wrapped in sheets. As I turned from the window, there was a knock on my door. Going down the steps, I thought maybe I should pop the cat in her carrier and take her out with me, but I didn't stop. It wasn't the next door door-knocker - it was my neighbor from the apartment downstairs, her Pre-Raphaelite red hair flowing picturesquely as usual, clutching her little boy. "There's a big fire," she breathed. "We heard a big bang. We thought maybe it was your cat or something."

My cat? Anyway...

Her mother and sister, visiting from California, were also there. They all look better without their bras on than I do. We bare-foot padded out to the damp sidewalk and speculated about the fire. "There's so much that goes on over there," my neighbor tsk-tsked. Other neighbors came by, some in robes, some with enough sense to put sneakers on, some chasing their dogs, for crying out loud. Nothing like a house fire to bring folks out. The cops, who know their way to this part of the street well, showed up in a moment, followed by two fire trucks. Mom walked right over to the scene. She reported back to us that it was an SUV on fire, that the woman who had just parked it was "drunk or something," and that Broncos or Jeeps or whatever are known to catch fire due to a fault in the cruise control. I stood there trying surreptitiously to prop my boobs up with my arms.

An arc of foam shot through the air. The fire was out in under a minute. I excused myself and went back inside. The cat growled, but whether it was because I didn't take her with me or because she was accused of being as loud as a gas tank explosion, I don't know.

The little clusters of curious and concerned folk have dispersed. It looks like the authorities are taking statements from the owners of the charred chassis. The cops and one of the fire trucks have left. Since I can't sleep with so much as a blinking VCR in the room, I'm sure I won't sleep 'til the second truck is gone too.