Nowhere to go
First he lost the power of speech, then he lost the power of talking to himself and finally that of thinking and staying awake. "Beautiful" women abound in the streets. No, they are not beautiful, they are only pretty, or worse still, conceited. And they all look alike. Seeing one is seeing them all. They all walk alike, dress alike, make their hair alike. Conveyer belt outputs would not be more standardised. He pretends they do not exist.
He has learnt too much paradoxical truth of life that he has lost all interest in life. "Nothing turns out like you want it to." The best attainable state is breaking even. There is no such thing as gain, while loss is the lot of many fellows. When films are not interesting anymore, books worth reading have been read and popular music is getting from stale to annoying, the only redemption can only be in rising living standard, which never comes.
What is the point of talking?