Кадр выше наш. Полное медиа с Facebook запрошено — подставим его сюда, как только приедет.
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My name's Ryan. I'm 36. I live in Preston. It's near Manchester, if you didn't know. A small industrial town where everythin's grey, it's always rainin', an' the only work is the factories. I've been workin' as a sander at a furniture factory for six years now. Six years I've been breathin' wood. When I say "breathin'", I ain't jokin'. The dust is everywhere. It's in the air, on the machines, in my clothes, in my hair, in my food. I wake up in the mornin' an' I cough. In the bathroom I spit in the sink an' my spit's grey. Sawdust. It's already inside me. Probably me lungs are half wood by now. The smells. Glue, varnish, some chemicals for treatment. Plus the wood itself — oak, pine, MDF. It all mixes into one nasty cocktail. When I leave work, I reckon I smell through my pores. The missus says she's used to it. But I see her scrunch up her nose when I kiss her before bed. Shifts are 10–12 hours. I start at six in the mornin'. Get up at half four. It's still dark, cold, the bus is empty. Streetlights outside, rain. Always rain. The machines are old, from Soviet times still. They hum, they vibrate, sometimes it feels like me head's gonna burst. After eight hours of noise you stop hearin' anythin' altogether. You walk home an' your ears are still ringin'. It's like white noise that don't switch off. My hands — that's a whole different story. The skin's rough like sandpaper. Calluses on me palms that crack an' heal over an' over again. Cuts from the splinters, bits of wood stuck in there, cracks on me fingers. When I wash my hands after shift, the water burns, 'cause the skin's gone thin an' there's tiny cracks everywhere. I use that cheap cream from Lidl. It don't help. Nothin' helps. Mask? We wear respirators. But they're useless after two hours. The dust clogs the filters an' you start breathin' it in like nothin's changed. I buy replacement filters once a week. That's £10. I can't afford to change 'em more often. At dinner I sit in the canteen. Smells of cheap
