Fire alarms and nakedness, respectively

I live in a peaceful dormitory overlooking Washington Square Park West. I can hear jazz musicians during the day and the quaint rustling of the sleepy homeless at night. So it may come as no surprise to you, readers, that this beautiful evening in the West Village of New York City, I was lulled by the beauty of the city, the trance of the liveliness just below my window, and the gentle caress of the swine flu. I have a roommate now, citizenduck. He is neither a homosexual nor a falcon. So as I lay my incredibly good-looking head down to my pillow and began to succumb to the temptations of sleep, I heard an obnoxious beeping noise off in the distance. I figured it was just the dumbasses over in room 220, so I rolled over and started sleep again. Unfortunately the assholes down the hall did not silence themselves, and I quickly began to realize that the fire alarm was going off and the monotonous honking was not a human noise, but a mechanical one. I arose with haste and looked everywhere for clothes to put on. I had about 10sec to be outside, and I could not find shoes or pants. I did, however, find a bathrobe. And so the NYU security guards made me stand, freezing, pantsless, shoeless, but robe-ful in a crowd of people I had never met before. Needless to say, citizenduck and I utilized our time out of the building to get Chick Fil-A. Fuck yeah, Chick Fil-A.