Following

The following is my explanation.

Well...

more of an account of what happened.

I'd been on my own for a while...

and getting kind of...

lonely and bored.

Nothing to do all day.

And that's when I started shadowing.

"Shadowing"?

Shadowing. Following. I started to follow people.

- Who? - Anyone at first. Um —

I mean, that was the whole point. Somebody at random.

Somebody who didn't know who l was.

And then?

- And then... nothing. - "Nothing"?

Nothing. I'd just see...

where they went, what they did...

and go home afterwards.

Why'd you do it?

Um, to see where they went.

Anyone — I mean —

How can l explain? You ever, um...

been to a football match, just let your eyes...

go over, drift across a crowd of people...

and they slowly stop and fix on one person...

and all of a sudden that person isn't part of the crowd anymore?

They've become an individual, just like that.

- - It just became irresistible.

- So you followed women? - No, I didn't follow women.

It wasn't a sex thing. I followed anybody.

I just wanted to see where they went and what they did.

You were playing secret agent?

No, I'm a writer.

Well, I want to be a writer, anyway.

I was gathering material for my characters.

Well, to begin with.

After a while, I spotted the dangers.

I'd become hooked. I had to start making up rules...

to just try and keep it under control.

"Never follow people for too long."

"Don't follow women down dark alleys after dark."

You know, stuff like that.

lt was supposed to just be completely random.

And when it stopped being random...

that's when it started to go wrong.

When I started to follow people...

specific people, when I selected...

a person to follow...

that was when the trouble started.

Other people are interesting to me. Have you never...

listened to other people's conversations on the bus...

or on the Tube, seen people, somebody on the street...

that looks interesting or is behaving...

slightly... oddly or something like that and wondered...

what their lives involved, what they do...

where they come from, where they go to?

You watch somebody's behavior, and it raises...

a hundred thousand questions...

and I wanted to ask those questions...

and l wanted to know what the answers were.

And so I'd follow people to try and find out.

The most important rule was...

that even if I found out where somebody worked or where they lived...

then you would never follow the same person twice.

That was the most important rule.

That was the one that I broke first.

Yes?

- Uh, coffee, please. - Come on. It's lunch.

Uh, toasted cheese sandwich as well.

Mind if I join you?

Who and why?

Hi. Yeah, um, I'll have a black coffee please, and —

What's that?

Another coffee, black.

You're obviously not a policeman, so who are you and why are you following me?

I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about.

Don't piss me about. Who the fuck are you?

Oh, thank you very much.

Sugar?

No, I wasn't — I wasn't following you.

I — I — I saw you with your bag.

I just thought you looked interesting.

- What are you, a faggot? - No, no.

Okay, to tell you the truth, I thought you were this guy...

that I was at school with.

I saw you walk in here, so I followed you in just to see if it was him.

- But it wasn't. - Why didn't you ask me when you saw me?

'Cause I'd have been embarrassed if it wasn't the person.

Not as embarrassed as you are now.

- No, I suppose not. - What's your name?

Bill.

Well, Bill, what do you do?

- Actually, I'm kind of — - Between jobs right now. Yeah.

- Yeah. That's right. - What would you do?

- Don't know. - Oh, come on, Bill.

Don't be coy. There's some burning ambition inside you, isn't there?

There's something of the starving artist in you, no?

- No. No. - No?

- You're a painter. - No. - Photos.

- No. - Writer. - No.

- Writer, eh? - No.

- But you write. - Not much.

- But sometimes. - Sometimes. Who doesn't?

Me.

- So you're a writer. - I didn't say that.

What makes you think I'm a writer, anyway?

An unemployed 20-something...

who fancies himself a writer — a real leap into the unknown.

- Well, I'm not a writer. - But you're interested in people.

- Yeah. - This person.

Perhaps.

You haven't even asked me my name yet...

- What's your name? - or what's in my bag.

- What bag? - My bag.

The one you've been looking at all morning.

What's your name, and what's in your bag?

My name's Cobb.

Take a look for yourself.

What were you expecting? Drugs?

Why would you nick their old CDs?

Easy to grab a load. Easy to sell. Totally untraceable.

The other stuff's a bit more tricky.

You don't look like a burglar.

Sounds like a compliment.

Are you interested now?

Gloves.

- People don't really do that, do they? - You'd be surprised.

Does that really work?

Wait and see.

Beginner's luck.

See? Nobody home.

Okay, first things first. We need a bag.

A bag?

To carry the stuff in. Why are you whispering?

- Don't you have one of your own? - Yeah, it's a big bag with "swag" written right across it.

Ah, bingo.

Okay. What do you fancy?

- Nothing here of any value. - You don't seem that concerned.

- I don't do it for the money. - Why do you do it?

For the adrenaline. And because, like you, I'm interested in people.

You can tell a lot about people from their stuff.

- How old would you say these people are? - Don't know.

You can tell a lot from the futon, for a start. Young people have futons.

Most people wouldn't be anywhere near 40 with a futon.

And they've got one laundry bag, which means...

they're probably very used to each other.

- Probably about 25, over. - They could be 20 and have been living together for years.

Nah. No, look at the books. They're college-educated.

Probably graduated when they were 21 or 22.

Moved in together in the last year.

You can tell more from the music.

And here is the box.

- What box? - Everyone has a box.

With men, it's usually a shoebox.

- Are there valuables in it? - No. More interesting, more personal.

Things like snapshots, letters...

or trinkets from a Christmas cracker.

See?

Envelope, photo...

little calling cards, notes.

A sort of unconscious collection. A display.

- What do you mean, "display"? - Well, display.

Each thing tells something very intimate about the people.

We're very privileged to see it. It's very rare.

Hey, hey, hey, hey! What the —

What the hell'd you do that for?

It's like a diary.

They hide it, but actually they want someone to see it. That's what I do.

Concealment, display — flip sides of the same coin.

This way they know that someone's seen it.

That's what it's all about — interrupting someone's life...

making them see all the things they took for granted.

Like when they go back and buy all this stuff from the shelves...

with the insurance money, they'll have to think...

for the first time in a long time...

why they wanted all this stuff, what it's for.

You take it away...

and show them what they had.

Saucy, eh? Found these in the last flat.

Think I'll just give them something to chat about.

- Why would you do that? - She'll find them in his trousers and ask him what he's been doing.

Yeah, but why would you want to fuck up their relationship?

Don't you listen? You take it away...

and show them what they had.

- Fancy a drink? - You've gotta be joking.

Oh, don't be fooled by the supermarket label.

I seem to remember I've had this before, and it was actually quite good.

You'd have had a bit of difficulty doing this with your gloves on.

- So we actually gonna take anything? - Anything your heart desires.

Although that's not really the point, is it? I mean, it's just work.

I thought the whole point of burglary was taking things.

No, this is the point — breaking in, entering someone's life...

finding out who they really are.

I mean, don't you just feel it? Standing here...

drinking their wine — people we'll never even meet.

Would you like a drink? I've got some wine.

- Holy f— - Shh!

- You startled us! Are you from the agency, or are you viewing like us? - What are you doing in my flat?

- Didn't the agent tell you we'd be here this afternoon? - But we're not moving.

You must be the man of the house. Congratulations. You have a very nice home.