Hellsborough Exposed

For a while now I've been seeing the same handful of people everywhere I go — six of them, or seven; the count won't hold still in my memory. Some stop to chat, friendly enough, wanting to know me better, though I'm fairly sure they already know me: one drinks at a local bar, another works a shop where I'm plainly expected the moment I walk in. I keep having the same vision — the six or seven of them seated round a table, talking easily above me, and me underneath it, naked and unarmed and unable to move for the wall of the cage. They're not clowns, and I've wondered about jellyhead stooges of The Nascenti, but I can't see why the nascenti would trouble themselves over me. It doesn't feel like a threat. It feels like close, patient, personal surveillance, and I am going to keep recording it.