Two agents and my code-table

Dear Friends!
I hope you are my friends, because I am not sure who is my friend, or hardly what a friend is anymore. I am happy that Jabberwocky seems to have a similar problem because this makes it seem that we are brothers in misfortune. Which would be almost like a friend, I think, or at least I want to be able to trick myself into believing this. I need some sleep, and I can’t sleep when I worry so. Which makes me even more worried.
I don’t know where I am right now, which is by design. I think somebody is scanning my head for specific thoughts, like my location. I have circumstantial evidence that they can read my thoughts. Two weeks ago, two agents disguised as hobos attacked me and pretended to want my wallet. Of course, as we all know, they wanted to know were our secret meeting places are. But I told them nothing! Once they understood I would tell them nothing, they pretended not to be interested in our secret society at all.
When they had taken my wallet, I followed them in order to find out what part of their organization they worked for. It surprised me that they continued playing the hobo-role also when they thought no-one was watching. Or did they know I was watching, and continued to play along only to fool me properly? I watched them live under a bridge for over a day, wasting my money on glue! Such dedication these agents have! Maybe their families are kidnapped to force out such hardships? Despite the feelings of empathy these thoughts brought out, I saw myself forced, for the good of our future planet, to attack these two individuals. I was chocked by my own fury and strength and the utter weakness of these two actors. What training do they get these days? They must have been drafted and quickly thrown into action.
I killed them with my bare hands in a matter of moments. The slow and tedious part was getting rid of their wretched bodies. I managed to separate some chunks of them by kicking and pulling and some biting. I had no tools or weapons. Then, to my luck I found two dogs that showed interest in the bodies. I caught them and tied them up beside the ex-agents, and watched the starved animals eat what little was on these bones for a few hours. I then smashed the ex-agent’s skulls and cracked out the teeth and threw them in different directions. All went into the river and the dogs ran away.
I get little to eat these days, and I am surprised that it did not occur to me to take the example of the dogs. My mind is not what it used to be, and I am not even sure that this thing ever happened, or if it is all a figment of my wild imagination. But how would that explain the enormous amount of blood I had to wash away from my clothes?
Anyway, the hobos are my confirmation that somebody scans my head, since they knew where I was. After this, I have devised a method of keeping track of my whereabouts by using cryptographic messages to myself. I write down my encrypted address and keep it in my pocket. I hide the code-table in a crack of a wall in a dark alley. Then I forget my address by using a concoction I found on the Internet. It works beyond belief but it almost kills me each time. My recent memories are wiped as are some of my other memories and functions. My left hand has stopped obeying my commands and I seem to need to stuff my trousers with whatever napkins I can find these days.
But it is all worth it! But I need some moral support from my allies in this huge struggle!
Where are we all, and how can we ever find out? I don’t even know where I am myself!! (And where is the code-table??)
(a shadow of the former) Tintin

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