After midnight, a solitary man steps off a city bus. He's wearing a suit and tie, carrying an attache case. He walks to his apartment building, gets his mail, and climbs the stairs to his flat. A neighbor gives him a hard look. He checks the refrigerator, surprises a bug on the food he was going to cook, abjures dinner, and goes to bed. Distant music ("You're an old shoe I've thrown away"), a busy mosquito, and a card from an ex-lover ("Do you know when I will let you be? Never!") keep him awake. He tries throwing darts at her picture, killing the insect, and tossing his clock-radio out the window. Can anything but the dawn bring respite?