Around 5 in the morning, Mountain Standard Time, the smoke alarm in my apartment started to beep furiously. This startled me out of bed, and startled me in general. Usually, a smoke detector going off means there’s smoke in the vicinity. That either means there’s a fire, or my apartment has been transported through time and space to the pit of a 311 concert in 1997.
Upon further inspection there was no smoke, nor any adjacent smoke. I was so not in danger of a fire that Smokey the Bear would give me a fist bump for a good job.