The rest home held the traditional sterile atmosphere that caused its inhabitants to die of boredom. Residents sat staring at their own shoes slowly drowning in a sea of blank white everything. White sheets, floors, walls and nurses saturated their days, slowly embezzling any sanity they retained. Wheelchairs lined the halls throughout the day, with the exception of meal time, an event that could have provided a point of anticipation, but didn’t. Even the food was achromatic and pallid: room temperature elbow macaroni glopped with flecks of tuna, held together the in the expected ice cream scoop form by a gluey white ooze. Add to it a slice of bread, a plastic solo cup of apple sauce and of course milk and the meal was complete. The only colors were smears of peas and pimentos that could have offered an embellished sort of pigment had they not looked previously digested.
Excerpts from The Eyes to See Grace