He is back. The dirty spy who tried to poison me. How long was that? Two years ago? Three years ago?

In a socialist state where an American nurse will never be enough because there are not enough socialists and not enough people ready to behave “nice” and bend the rules for a few bucks — old and poor — I was looking for jobs.

Because the job market is socialist-controlled, and of course gangs and cliques running healthcare don’t like me too much, and I don’t behave according to woke rules and normalized craziness — I didn’t have a job.

So, a US RN with a lot of experience went to beg for a job and ended up at a workshop where a dirty spy and his allies poisoned me.

But surprise — yesterday he came back. Same dirty spy. Same legs in ACE wraps. Same fingers. Same evil eyes under his mask.

He is a psychopath. He came to enjoy my fall and feel happy about my broken foot in his dirty brain, similar to his own cirrhotic decline.

Yes, you know — the dirty spy has liver cancer or pancreatic cancer, one of the two.

And because people behave differently around his huge ego and evilness, he compares himself with others and enjoys every hardship in their lives.

So in his mind we are “healthy equal” — my broken leg with his wrapped feet, both in strapped boots, sandals for him, same color, similar straps.

He started the discussion just like that: “How similar we are.”

I stopped myself from slapping him. You can’t punch an old lady disguise in the middle of a coffee shop. I let him play his dirty role.

I wanted to yell at him:

“NO, we are not similar!

I am not a spy and I will never be one.

I don’t play with people for any reason.

I don’t hurt people and I don’t enjoy the hurt of others.

I don’t want dirty money and dirty power EVER. So we are not the same.”

But what scared me so much was that he was there in the coffee shop close to my kid, on the same bench, for a long time.

He even dared to ask me whom I am to that kid — even if he knew very well who I am. I took it like a threat. That’s how the dirty ones play threats.

And I remembered, in that half second, a gang member in a yellow taxi cab, and after that a “professional” in a house — same eyes, same threat.

Intelligence is corrupted, and in a corrupted society it will run it.

I helped him by giving him the list with the best wide shoes for his legs, and I became scared for the young kids in that coffee store.

If dirty intel is in — and if he is one who poisoned me — no one is safe. Not the business. Not the customers.

Run your dirty intel out of people’s places. Do not put people at risk or voluntarily do it.

And if you die, die with dignity. Don’t try to mess around because you are dying. It is psychopathy, and from a former intel agent it is not admissible.

I saw a spy dying in Santa Cruz. A true brave American.

He had dignity, not psychopathy, until his last moment — trying to protect and teach others, not messing with them.

Craziness is NOT intelligence.

Don’t force me to act in any other ways because a dirty spy lost his mind, is corrupted, and plays dirty.

Too much dirty intel activity in the area — and my preferred coffee shop.