There you were on the couch, snoring. At peace. We envied you. It was a long night, and our crew wanted to close up the coffee shop and catch some zzz's. But you wouldn't wake up. We turned on the lights. Coughed loudly. Tried different iPod tunes to disturb your rest—Clash, Bad Brains, hip-hop. Nothing. Finally, we resorted to the world's loudest song—”La Marcha de Zacatecas” (“The March of Zacatecas”), a Mexican brass band standard that opens with the thunder of tubas, trumpets, clarinets, French horns, cymbals, triangles and drums and rises in decibels from there. It worked—your neck snapped forward, and your eyelids squinted at the double whammy of bright lights and earsplitting banda. You staggered out of the shop, shooting us an evil glare as we laughed. Maybe laughing was rude—but so was leaving drool on the couch.
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