With the Edison Military Band providing the soundtrack, a gourmand who's already three sheets to the wind sits alone at a table in white formal wear and a top hat, surrounded by bottles of beer and a fondue pot with cheese for his rarebit. He gorges himself, then heads for home, tipsy, holding onto a swaying obelisk. Once in his quarters, it's straight to bed where he dreams of imps, a dizzying flight over the city on his bed, a fall to a steeple, then a crash through his roof onto the floor. A rare bit indeed.
—<jhailey@hotmail.com>