Outside his window traffic on the A312 moves through the night, a sound that never ceases. Inside his stuffy room, Shairaz Khan sits on a bed with everything he owns piled up around him.
There isn’t much: an Xbox games console, a microwave, fridge, a couple of books. There are some photographs on the wall and the single bed has a duvet with a stars and stripes cover on it. Shairaz’s girlfriend says there are bed bugs in it but he lifts up the mattress and says you’d see them if they were there and he doesn’t think they’re there.
In the corner of the room, a pile of clothes, old pillows, a bag, a single unit wardrobe half submerged. A bottle of Dr Pepper sits under the small table dominated by the Xbox.
