"Classic Rock. All night long." Life is a highway, I'm gonna ride it all night long...
 
And so it goes though the night, thirty songs in a looped queue. If it's 2:32 a.m., it's time for Peter Frampton: Do you feel like I do? (Woo woo weew why why woo?).  The milk man comes in the middle of Bad Company's Bad Company and isn't done until the Boss's Born to Run.
 
At 3:15 the donut man swings wide, zooms back to the doors, props them open, pumps fresh exhaust into the store. For a month I've asked him to stop hotdogging but he ignores me. So there's little to talk about with the donut man. "Where's my trays?" he thunders. "Oh, I'll get them for you,"  I reply, adding expletives under the racket. School's out for summer, screams Alice. While the donut man helps himself to free soup, I'm getting his payout of $62.50 and asking him why he chucks his filthy receipt pad into the tray of glazed donuts every night without fail, because they kinda get all over each other.
 
He's standing right in front of me.  I spell it out. "Basic sanitation, man."  You can say anything if you add "man" to it. Shaking his head, he takes his money, pockets it, jams the pad into his back pocket, the one flagged with the red handkerchief. He's still shaking his head. He leans closer on the counter, smiles angrily, shakes his head one last time and declares: "I ain't had a vacation since, hell, since 19... sixty-six probally. But thanks for the advice. And the soup!"  The last he throws over his shoulder.
 
A register drawer is a wonderful drawer to slam, but only when it's open. I stomp to the manager's office and shake the knob on the off chance I could turn off that bleeping music. Life is a highway, I'm gonna ride it, all night long...
 
Here we go loop de loop, here we go loop de lie. I charge outside and light a smoke. It's almost four. Gotta get the donuts on the shelves, gotta get on 15 pots of coffee. That son of a bitch donut man. Gotta be a drunk. I'll get my friends the cops to be here next time he zooms in. Give the old bastard a nice little scare. Breathalyze him.
 
Speak of the devil, it's Officer Friendly. "Mornin!" he calls. "Wreckin' your smoke break?"
 
"Nah. The donut man already did that."
 
"You're having a problem with your donut man?"
 
"He doesn't listen!"
 
Between coughing spasms caused by laughter the police officer explained that old Dickie Monroe was deaf as a stone.
 
All night, groovin' all night...