He turns the radio on, inserts an old CD, and presses the play button. Still discontented, he further adjusts the volume to an all-time high. The room reverberates with the noise emanating from the speakers. The world is shaken, disgruntled by the untimely disturbance. And at 12 midnight, sleep becomes almost impossible. From the room's dimly-lit corner he hears a shout, "Can you please turn that off? We're trying to sleep here." But for no reason at all, he dismisses the request, oblivious of the anger combined with it. The shout increases with gradual intensity, but his ears are shut. "Don't talk to me," he thinks, "you do not exist." He continues to listen to the noise, his eyes blankly staring at nothingness. For a few minutes he sits like that, as if the world has stopped moving and he is all alone. One by one, his companions leave him to search for some place where there is peace and quiet and yes, the sacramental pleasure called sleep.