Surround by Hiroshi Yoshimura from 1986
I was at a desk on the big campus. It was coming round to Christmas again, and getting colder, but you couldn’t really feel much of anything in here. I never, ever left. It was an office, but nobody was coming through. None of the clocks worked, but you could rely on the certainty of night to strike itself. In whatever hours there was daytime, I sorted the incoming post, then reorganised it for the convenience of whoever my next colleague would be. This became quickly inconvenient. I knew only my own system, my own series of tracked motions to form a memory game. No queues formed. No stranger passed by. To keep it from complete isolation, there were a few of the guys from Security posted up in the back office. They kept to themselves, except when they cooked. They always ate red meat: bacon at breakfast, microwave burgers at lunch, mince for dinner. They created fumes that kept the building in a saturated air. Nothing new came through this place. The parcels were t...