though I never notice anyone going in or out, except him, of course, and then only rarely. As well as the furniture moving sounds sometimes I hear the sound of running feet, a rapid thud-thud-thud, as if they are chasing one another around the room, as if theyíre playing some kind of game of tag. The thudding starts up suddenly, and as suddenly stops. Have they got bored with the game? Did somebody get caught?

Iíve tried hard to get all this out of my mind. Itís none of my business after all. Itís easy to get obsessed about things, to get them out of proportion. But every night, as I lie in bed, I listen out, Iím waiting, and Iím not waiting for sleep, Iím waiting for the first indications that something is happening next door. Once I thought I heard somebody scream; but it was just for a split second, it ended almost before it had begun, perhaps I imagined it.

At night, when I could get to sleep, Iíd often dream I was in my neighbourís apartment. Iíd creep through the rooms, moving stealthily between the furniture, careful not to disturb anything. In my dream Iíd be watching myself, as if I was watching a movie and the movie happened to feature me. So there Iíd be, scouting around, listening out, and Iíd start going through their things; searching for clues. Eventually Iíd work my way around to the bedroom and start searching there. The bedroom would be full of boxes, all different sizes, a bit like hat boxes, except they werenít, and Iíd keep opening the boxes, but they were always empty; and each time Iíd open a box Iíd be fearful of what I might find inside. But Iíd keep on doing it. I had to force myself, but I just knew I had to keep on looking: there was something I simply must discover. And everytime I had the dream Iíd just be about to open the final box, the box that had to contain what I was looking for, when my neighbour would appear from nowhere and say, accusingly: ĎWhat do you think youíre doing?í

I would freeze in terror at being discovered, but before anything else could happen Iíd wake up. I kept having this dream over and over again, and I never got to find out what was in the last box.

The less I actually see my neighbour the more curious I become about him. What does he do? Where does he go? Who are his friends? I was tempted to sneak into his apartment for real. Have a good look around. See what all the DIY amounted to. But it wasnít a practical idea. Iím not the action type. I know I wouldnít be any good at breaking and entering: they make it look easy in the movies, but thatís just the movies. And then I thought, why donít I follow him? See what he does when heís not moving furniture, or running around it. I toyed with the idea of lying in wait for him to leave the apartment and follow him. See where he goes, what he does, who comes back with him. It would be something. It sounded good in theory, and more practical than breaking into his apartment. But did I really want to do it? The movies make it look glamorous, but in reality I suspected it would be boring; boring and uncomfortable, and pointless. I probably wouldnít be any good at it anyway. Iíd be bound to lose him in the crowds.

Then I got the idea of going through his garbage. On the surface this sounds a lot less appealing, but once certain qualms are set aside it has a lot going for it. I read you can find out a lot about people from what they throw away. People do it to celebrities all the time; sorting through their discards, finding out all kinds of things about them.

So I went down to the garbage area. Itís located in the basement. All the tenants have their own bin. Itís very organized, very orderly. I went early in the morning, before