We close our eyes and curl into balls as we rock gently to the static on the radio. From above we look like the dots that drip from wet whitewash walls onto the floor, before the dust blows into them and turns them gray and speckled.
At nine o'clock we go to work and sign forms, tick boxes, flirt with people we have no desire to fuck. It makes the time go faster. We return home to partners we barely know and pretend to love. Watch TV, microwave our tea. On special occasions we go to restaurants or put flowers on the mantlepiece, but when we're alone we close our eyes and curl into balls, rocking gently to the static on the radio.