I follow the salaryman to the supermarket. He buys grapes and a gigantic fly swatter and pays with his ATM card. Then I follow him home, to bed, the office, to lunch, Starbucks, home again, to his mother's in the country, and finally to a love hotel.
"Don't watch me," he says.
I sit in the chair beside the bed, facing the wall, listening to the salaryman moan as he fucks the blond prostitute. When the salaryman leaves I stay behind, because even the man who follows the salaryman around needs to get some.
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