The docks.
The walls covered in grime from the heavy traffic that passed every day from the nearby high avenue were throwing their filthy shadows over the narrow alleys. The smell of the residue from the factory waste filled his nostrils but he couldn't feel it, not anymore. How long had it been since he last felt anything else? A day? Two days? It was difficult to count if you couldn't sleep. The noise, the constant noise kept him turning one way or the other, never truly sleeping, never truly awake. Or so he wanted to be. He wanted so much for it to go away, the noises, the madness. For he was mad, he knew by now. He couldn't be sane if he saw what he saw, if he heard what he heard. But they wouldn't leave him alone. What did they want from him? Why wouldn't they leave him alone? The only place he felt safe was any very loud and noisy place, where he couldn't hear that constant buzzing following him. The only place he felt he could breathe was near the river, on the docks, wherever there was running water and a lot of noise. So in the docks he'd taken refuge, with its people and constant movement and noise even at night. But he still couldn't sleep. What was he looking for? He was drawn there, he knew it.
He kept on walking, dragging his tired feet all over the busy docks with people coming and going, back and forth, like ants collecting their food. And he just walked aimlessly until he knew not where, just walking to get away from them, to get away from himself. The morning sun was rising higher, the shadows were getting thinner and corners were brightening gradually. And more people went about their business in that agitated morning. The only aimless figure in the entire place seemed to be him. Everyone else had something to do, they had a purpose, a place to go, a place to be received in. He walked up to the very edge of the water. Some feet away there was a boat tier, a watchman was reading a magazine sitting in the corner of a small booth.
Maybe his madness had drawn him to the river to end his misery. But he didn't want to go into the river. No, it was farther along the way but he never got there, the noises always stopped him in his tracks and sent him going the other way, scared of what he might find if he went close to them. But they wouldn't stop. He had thought that if he followed the noises they'd end when he got to the end of the line. It didn't happen. The noises just increased and he wouldn't go near them. They were following him. Now he was safe among the bustling people. With all the rest of the noises from the activity around him, he could forget he was running away. He'd have to go back eventually. He hadn't even given notice in his work. They'd be calling soon to know what was going on. But what could he tell them? That he was running from or towards the annoying noises? They'd take him for a madman and he couldn't blame them. In fact, he didn't think he was sane anymore. That wasn't a sane person's behaviour.
He turned around and began his way back. His hands were moving nervously at his sides. He kept looking over his shoulder as he made his way among the crowd of people in the streets. Slowly, he went away from the docks. He knew where he was going now and he headed there. When he had done some 2 miles in that direction, he changed his mind and went towards somewhere else completely different. He reached a place halfway to the place he was heading to and stopped. Again, he kept looking at his sides, like he didn't know where he was. His wandering mind took his steps towards the end of the road again. Just walking, not looking around anymore. He couldn't take what he might find if he looked. He kept bumping into people who swore angrily at his dishevelled figure. They thought he was drunk, or worse, stoned, and walked past him trying not to touch his dirty outline.
Again, the humid air filled his nostrils and he inhaled it deeply. Walking aimlessly through the many containers he got to a path in between the rows and turned one way randomly. Finally, one of them caught his eye. The door was open and he walked to it. Inside, it was empty, cold, a rancid smell came from it but he didn't mind. He was tired already, his feet were weary and he hadn't slept in days. He closed the door tight behind him. Now it was dark. He stumbled to the other side of the box and when he reached the opposite wall, he let himself fall slowly to the floor. Finally, with the last of his strength, he breathed a deep sigh of relief and closed his eyes. He fell immediately into a deep slumber that no one would wake him from.