All day clean. All day, every day. Even the quicks of my fingers are covered over with grime. I’m taking a shower. The water at my feet makes swirls of dark and dust, whirlpools of oil through my toes, and I’m so tired I can barely stand. It never ends - the cleaning. My mind fills will it. There’s no space left for white, not even in my thoughts, and through my mind I search for some space which is mine, but even there it’s all black too. You don’t know how much you miss white till it’s gone from you. That’s the strangest thing. I’ve never seen white, though I have a memory of it.

This is an extract from ‘Silver City Freeway’, a story I’m writing presently.