They started following me while I was studying the race. It was always the same man, albeit in different forms: woman, man, old man, child… Sometimes the butcher from the grocery store, the girl from the greengrocer, the kiosk. corner of my street. In the multitude of identities he adopted in order not to be discovered, he was always different, always the same. She became one of my students in writing classes, usually named Sofía. My cell phone was entrusted with spying on me when I was alone, but if I left it in another room, I felt like I was being watched by a comic book character I was reading. If I left the comic and bought a novel, it was the protagonist of the novel who sent reports about me to a remote intelligence center, I never found out what country he was from.
