by a thirst that can't be satisfied, maltreated and weakened, has to sleep.He has to. And then he cannot!
It is too stuffy. Damp, sticky air fills the room. But then, it's not air. It's wet cotton. Inhale, and it's like swallowing a ball of cotton dipped in warm water. It's unbearable. It nauseates, it prostrates, it unhinges.
[--Ryszard Kapuscinski in The Soccer War]
from The Independent: Kapuscinski: A disptach from the late master of reportage
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