I zoom in further and see that the badge sewn to the right of his chest is yellow, with a shape embroidered in black cotton. A vehicle perhaps? Is he a taxi driver? He’s not wearing matching blue trousers, either. He’s wearing jeans, with the bottom all frayed. How had I not noticed this detail? I’ve looked at it every day, thought he was in overalls or a more formal uniform. Now what I’m seeing, in the city where I thought it would be possible to actually find him, is something rather different.

‘Four hundred baht,’ the fella in the shop says to me.

He’s scrawny, an emoji poo t-shirt hanging off his small frame. I look at him, confused.

‘Like ten dollar,’ he explains. ‘Same, same. Any t-shirt.’

‘Thank you.’

He takes a replica Real Madrid shirt off a hanger and holds it against me.

‘Oh, no,’ I wave my hands. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Good price,’ he says.

‘Yes, it is—’

‘Yes?’ He’s already rolling it into a small plastic bag.

‘No!’

I show him the image on my phone to change the subject. I want to ask about the logo on the shirt. He shakes his head.

‘Not here,’ he says, as if he can read my mind.

‘Sorry, I don’t understand.’

‘No. Just t-shirt here,’ and he steps outside his shop and calls me to follow. Lifting his arm, he points down the main road, pointing over and over as if he’s pressing an imaginary button. ‘You go that way.’

‘For this?’ I ask, referring to the photo.

‘Yes, yes.’

Does he recognise the man? Or does he know the way to the mall where this man is sitting? Unless he just wants me to get out of his shop because it’s clear I’m not going to buy anything. I still want to ask him about the logo; check if it’s a company here in the city, an aim for my first destination in the hunt. But he’s serving another customer now, a woman serious about buying something from him.

The map had told me to head this way anyway, so I start the twenty-two-minute stroll.