You discover the boredom which is inseparable from
poverty; the times when you have nothing to do and, being
underfed, can interest yourself in nothing. For half a day at a
time you lie on your bed, feeling like the jeune squelette in
Baudelaire’s poem. Only food could rouse you. You discover
that a man who has gone even a week on bread and margarine
is not a man any longer, only a belly with a few accessory organs.