I can see a poor, vulnerable child stuck under the reckless machine.
I can smell the foul oil dashing around our well-polished workplace.
I can feel my heart pounding as my hands feel like they might burst.
I can hear a puff of death-black smoke leaping out of the vile, life-ruining machine.
I can taste the disgusting, disorientating fumes.
I can see loads of sad, angry people working for money and freedom.
I can smell the stinky scent of oil from the loom and the disgusting air in the room.
I can feel the soft cotton brushing my skin as I’m working the weaving loom.
I can hear the groans and yelps of the people who don’t want to work here.
I can see the misty dust near the broom being held by a young boy.
I can smell strong oil coming from a machine.
I can feel the cold air surrounding me from outdoors.
I can hear the managers sacking workers for not following the strict rules.
I can taste the wet rain from outside.