Sweat swarmed and beaded the palms of his hands as his heart thumped and pulse escalated. Bulging eyes blinked rapidly as his face twitched. His brown, swollen hands rumbled nervously through the inside pocket of his urine-stained tweed overcoat. "I got to find a match," he said to himself. "I got to find a match." Again he jerked through every pocket of his pants, jacket, and shirt. Still no match.

Wildly flailing his arms more frantically now, he began overturning chairs and tables in the room. Yellow eyes widened in disbelief as he hunched his back Neanderthal-like in search of that fire; that flame to heat the cooker that would launch his mind, body, and soul beyond the confines of reality. "I got to find a match," he whispered, half screaming. "If I don't find that match, I'm gonna kil…