A man walks out of one inner door, enters another. There’s a bundle of motoring magazines on a low table. For the six minutes I wait, I wonder what he is doing. I sense I am being watched. I look up to the ceiling – leak stains in dusty pink. I walk through the other door he has opened for me, tall man in grey suit. I sit facing him, look up to another dusty pink ceiling and across to a remote camera next to his computer. I see myself in pink lingerie reaching for a porno magazine from the pile on the low table. There are three others similarly dressed, watching me.