I'm in a rooming house. The landlord (who has reddish hair like my father and tiny blood spots from a morning shave) said to Samuel Beckett (the fierce Irish playwright and Nobel Prize winner), "Move that bike from the front yard--no bikes to be in sight from front--a new city rule to make the town neater." Beckett said, "I'll not move--here for many years and I'll not change for a stupid new law." Landlord starts out, but door to front locked with a cheap lock on inside. As he fumbles with it, he says, "I'll have to fill our 15 pages of forms and get it from where it is impounded."