A Short Story of My Life

I walked down the monochromatic sidewalk to Unit 24. The bell chimed as I pushed open the door with my bruised arms. I walked over to my mail slot wedged between slot 6 and 9, no one knows what happened to the missing number. A single letter lay there collecting dust. I open the envelope and read the letter:

Dear Braxton,
         For the past week I have surveyed your actions and followed your every step. Lets put it this way, you live in a rut. Everyday you wallow out of your unit building and make your way to Nicki's Cafe for a deluxe mochiatto whipped, and grab a bagel with chive cream cheese. Yet, you never seem to eat it 1 out of 10 times. While sipping your bliss, you walk 5 blocks to Gorgio's Pet Shop. I never quite understood why you named it Gorgio's when your name is Braxton. You then walk to the back room an hang up your khaki coat. As people walk in with a jolly hello and mock your appellation 'Mickey D'. You surprise me a put up with this name-calling. At the end of the day you did exactly what you just did: you pushed open the door and walked to your mail slot. Next you will mosey on up stairs to room 517, put your keys in the turquoise trimmed bowl, and sit down with a big thump onto your overly-comfy green chair. You usually watch the Food Channel and make the first thing you see a show make. For instance yesterday you learned how to make steak soup and a delish chocolate bar for desert. As you sat at your bar staring out the window, eating your dinner, you nearly saw me, but didn't. The formaggio across the street reminds you of your childhood of when your dad used to own his very own. Now you're probably wondering who I am, and why I am writing this to you. You will meet me soon.

-DiSClOseD

I looked up from this letter with astonishment. A realization came to my head: how did they know my inner thoughts, even my childhood. I look around, and see no one. No one on the streets, no thumping upstairs, even no cars. What is going on?