leggings position clues near end fit later

It's half past four on a Monday afternoon, today, and they are still at it. Romany style techniques, demands, counter demands, threats, odd old promises, extortion. I'm tired. I don't like them. They remind that I was left to grow up amongst them so that I would like them. Well - the plot didn't work. I don't. I didn't then. I hate being got at. Who can truly say that they enjoy it?

I woke up at a quarter to five when I heard a child running down the corridor outside, waving a gun and calling triumphantly, "Bang, bang." albeit with a newer twist to the sound. Adult voices shouting. I can't sleep, don quick clothes and walk outside to have a look. It's so quiet. It's empty of life.

So now it#s back to today, 4:30: they're all at it, demanding to go with me where-ever. I refuse. I'm well informed: I know of injunctions, the only problem is that I can't name or prove it.

There is a sound of a helicopter landing outside. For a few minutes there is activity as they scurry about to the helicopter.
Then they regroup. There appears to be three of them - are they American, or at an emergency response centre?

One of them has perfect dictation - just like Hittler - she speaks slowly, deliberately - she says she has a letter for me - names me properly - doesn't use Leggings, and then laughs as she opens it. She starts to read - like a chid. Slowly picking at and breaking down the words. I wonder how a girl reknowned for her poisen pen letters had a reading disorder. I've always hated being read too. I wander away.

Between ourselves it's more probably a newly written shopping list. I hope. They then say they've put in for Auschwitch Castle - for themselves - I say okay because I see no point in arguing, and I won't be there. They seem to think they can do whatever it was that the others were supposed to do and earn a lifelong income from it. I have no need of help, and cannot pay for it anyway.