The Wee Hours.

Consciousness came to her just as she was about to be hit by the motorcycle.
She gasped, half awake, making sense of the staccato reverberations, getting louder as she came to.
She poked him in the back.
"Bobby," she growled, "stop snoring!"
Bobby lifted his head and turned it, one eye open, to face her. He sighed, making one of those typical half-awake grunting noises, and went back to sleep... and snoring.
She counted to ten, counting each time he inhaled, hoping each exhale would become quieter.
When it finally became obvious that an entire posse of motorcycles were about to invade her bed, she poked Bobby again.
"Hey!"
Again, the head lifted, turned, turned back, sighed... and snored.
"Bobbbbbbbbyyyyyyyy!!!!"
His body jolted. She could see the disgust on his face.
"That's it. You've got to get out of here. I need to sleep."
He turned again, his eyes conveying a a plea for pity.
"I have to get up early tomorrow. I need to rest."
Bobby sighed again, stretched, and jumped off the bed. Making his way to the throw rug, he turned around three times, lay down, and dreamt of chasing motorcycles.