(A bedroom. The would-be sleeper lies tossing and turning and talks to himself in his head.) Try counting sheep. Yeah, that's it. One little puffy tail, two little puffy tails, three little puffy tails ... Hey! Is that my arm falling asleep? (Sitting up with wide open eyes) Oh boy! ... Aw! (He lays back down) Maybe count backwards from a hundred. One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-four ... Hey! I'm losing consciousness! (Sitting up) Oh boy! ... Aw!
(He gets up and pulls out a bottle of sleeping pills and a bottle of alcohol from his nightstand drawer.) I guess there's only one way to do this. (He dumps the pills into the booze and puts the deadly mixture up to his lips but hesitates.) No, I can't do it. If I die I will never sleep again.
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