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But that night, John lay awake in his sterile dormitory. For the first time in months, he felt something—not hunger, not fullness, but a tiny, absurd impulse. Curiosity.

By John Thompson

It looks like you’re referencing a poem or a piece of writing — possibly “I Was Made for Swallowing” by John Thompson (perhaps from his collection Stilt Jack or another work). The “GGG” might indicate a particular edition, publisher, or annotation.