He could use it, you know.

He kept drinking more and more coffee every day. It never seemed to keep him awake, though: even when he was nearly vibrating off his chair with jitteriness he felt about to fall asleep, all the time. He started to think he needed to search for another solution. He dreamed about hiking through wilds, rich valleys, across lonesome plains full of rice paddies, through bustling towns with tiger cages rattling in the streets, under bridges, under trees rushing in the wind, all over every where, searching for a hidden cure for sleepfulness. He dreamed and dreamed until his life became the dream. He began sleeping in his dreams, to find shade under a tree and close his eyes with the wind playing over his face, to dream within the dream, on and on, deeper and deeper descending, like burros down the walls of a canyon, heavy with supplies, dreaming only of the cool draught of water at the bottom, waiting for them.