Home.

Interpret this room in words, again... It’s neat. It’s as clean as it’s ever been, like I’ve walked in for the first time, but nothings new. Kind of déjà vu, like I know everything about the room, but it still feels like the first time. Amazing what a quick tidy up can do. A housemates mother has initiated this clean up making it maybe a little more thorough than any other. The new room has the same spider hanging on in the corner above the shower. The bathmats now line up exactly parallel to the walls and bath. The window sill clutter has been economised and straightened up in to lines of logical use. Toothpaste tubes next to the pot of tooth brushes; Razor neat and parallel. The clean room grids up on these strange parallels. Order and system symbolic of the new cleanliness. The heating’s on too, so the room has soft air, a warm cushion. His mother can visit more often. But it’s strange, feels odd, like the bathroom has a facade, one that I must keep up for tonight, and I will, it’s nice like this. But where is the room I was telling you about before. This one is ever so slightly... somewhere else.

Work.

To say there’s nothing new, says something. I’ve been here, and I’ve been here, and I’ve been here... It’s where I work and it happens again and again, not like my other haunts. My other regular holes. Those are part of my life, where as this one? I’ve been here. That’s all.
It’s still grey; the uninspiring room tries nothing out, and holds no new tricks. Two cubicles, two urinals, three sinks, one huge mirror, woodchip depth to the grey, the suspended ceiling squared, grey, even the colour in here is consumed by drab grey, eaten and exhausted orange doors, that were once bright, once had the energy to fight a corner in here.