Image via Wikipedia
Image via Wikipedia
Today I went to the grocery store. On the way to the store, the streets were empty. I was one of two people walking. And there was no traffic. Maybe one or two cars. I went into the grocery store. No one in the store. I had the store to myself, but within about ten minutes there were from 30-35 people just walking around the store. They weren’t there to shop. As always, the gang stalkers were in attendance. The store became very noisy, as usual. On my way back home, traffic and gang stalkers were falling over themselves trying to make me aware of their existence; as if I had to be told. The sidewalk became so crowded, I had to sit down and let them all pass. Of course, none of them was going anywhere, just there to annoy me. It’s Superbowl Day for God’s sake! Everybody is home watching football, but not the gang stalkers. They must do their duty!
I also got a new neighbor. A man. A man who looks like he’s part of the FBI, or some sort of government worker. He’s not the usual looking gang stalker. He has a SUV. I would say the car cost is in the neighborhood of $38,000+. Not my typical gang stalker. Plus he’s wearing a real leather coat. And has written all over him, married family man. He has those pine smelling looking things attached to his mirror. He’s next door to record anything I say, and to watch me. (The other man who usually watches me and hacks my computer seems to be on vacation.) He has no furniture whatsoever, just a comforter and a pillow on the floor. No dishes. Nothing else. Very temporary. He’ll disappear soon, and go back to where he came from. I won’t miss him. Good riddance!
I’ve become so good at judging people. Not in the judgmental way, but what they’re all about. I can tell if someone is married, or single. I don’t even have to look at his hand. I can tell if they’re part of law enforcement, or not. There’s a certain way law enforcement people have about them that just gives them away, even when they try to pretend they’re regular people.
The apartment manager and her husband have their grandchildren running all over the complex. And I have no complaint with this. I do have a complaint when they bring them into my apartment. How do I know they were in my apartment? There are small footprints all over my kitchen floor. Small children’s footprints that were put on my kitchen floor with latex paint. It’s bad enough that he puts footprints all over my carpet, but then to have his grandchildren do the same thing is something else. I guess he’s training them to become hooligans when they grow older. And when they get into trouble, they’ll wonder how their grandchildren can be so bad. They can blame themselves for introducing them into “hooliganism”.
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Related articles
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