Grey Suit

I'm on my way to a place where the sun appears at irregular intervals, a place where no one sleeps. A man in a grey suit knocks at my door, like he's done a thousand times. I wonder if he would come if I asked him not to. I don't sleep, ever; I look at a stream of letters, they're not talking to me. Just one symbol at a time, for ever. And the man at my door (I wish he wouldn't come so often) I wish he never existed. Like a starving animal exhaling for the last time I think: why bother? If I ask him, will he go? Knock. As I'm looking through the peephole I realize he's the only thing I can count on. Not the sun, just a man in a grey suit. Knock.