It is three in the morning. My eyes snap open, discovering my sheets are soaked through with cold sweat. Through my open window, the final chorus of Deniece William's "Let's Hear It For The Boy" blares from the street below. A part of me is relieved to pinpoint the source of the sound- it explains the sudden steamy turn my dreams took. "Let's give the boy a hand," indeed. The relief only lasts a breath as my mind catches up to what the song means. The first sign is always music. "I Wanna Dance with Somebody," "Born This Way," or any of Hayley Kiyoko's discography would have sufficed. As it happens, this year's harbinger of doom is Deniece Williams.