The wind was bad today. Hugh's filtermask was used up, all clogged, and he didn't have the seventy-five cents for another from a roadside dispenser, and anyway the quality of those things was lousy, didn't even last the hour claimed for them.
Lousy...
Absently he scratched his crotch. He'd more or less got used to lice by now, of course; there just didn't seem to be any way of avoiding them. For every evil under the sun there is a remedy or there's none. If there is one try and find it, if there isn't never mind it.
There must be a hell of a lot of evils in the world nowadays that there aren't any remedies for. Anyway: what sun? He hadn't seen the sun in fucking weeks.
May BY THE DEAD SEA - The Sheep Look Up (1972)