He selected one scab and stabbed the needle into it. Albert, by this point, had recovered enough coherence to watch, sitting on the bed, staring as the Ivan's thumb on the plunger forced the opium into his bloodstream
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These informal, raw journals, unfiltered by editors, were e-mailed to a handful of friends by satphone whenever there was time. Those of us lucky enough to receive them directly, forwarded them to more friends and so on, until the chain reached hundreds of people all over the world. Each time, various newspapers asked permission to print them, a testament to their passionate and unpolished immediacy. The process short-circuited the old order; no editors rewrote the copy, no profit motive guided the distribution. Those of us who read these passionate notes and spoke to Dave on the phone in those terrible places worried about him and fussed over his well-being. In Grozny, Russians and Chechnyans had no way out; Dave was there by choice and sometime seemed to be enjoying the danger. His professional excellence as a photographer always came through, but how did he reconcile his photos with his surroundings? Read his excellent notes from Chechnya, Bosnia, Serbia, Russia and Albania....