phil sits up in bed and looks around the room. the decor is typical bed and breakfast, flocked wallpaper, framed prints, and an odd assortment of mismatched furniture. his suit is hanging neatly on the back of the closet door and his suitcase is open on a stand at the foot of the bed, still neatly packed. a iradio, deejay and his sidekick come on with hyped-up, drivetime chappy talk." phil stares at the radio and listens to them.
phil sits up in bed, quickly alert, and looks around the room. something is wrong. he's wearing pajamas, his suit is once again hanging neatly on the closet door and his suitcase is back on its stand at the foot of the bed, again neatly packed. the song ends and the same radio deejay and his sidekick come on with the same manic energy. phil stares at the radio and listens to them. a look of astonishment comes over his face as they banter.
phil sits up in bed fearing the worst and looks on the nightstand. the pencil is whole again. completely stunned by the phenomenon, he jumps out of bed and starts dressing hurriedly as the morning deejays begin their now familiar rap.
"i got you, babe" is playing. phil hits the clock radio to turn it off. he lies there for a moment, then hefts himself heavily out of bed, not eager to repeat the day yet another time. with the radio off, phil does the deejays' morning routine himself, seemingly for the millionth time.
"i got you, babe" is playing. phil wakes up and smashes the radio.