No, nobody jumped me. Actually, I didn’t see anyone, especially not the SUV. And that’s a lesson in itself. Just suppose for two seconds that I’m not freaking out, that my mother is being watched, and so am I, consequently. In that case, it can only be by the government, with its technological arsenal.

OK, I’m talking to you via InLine, the network that guarantees anonymity and doesn’t belong to any company, so the FBI and the NSA can’t apply any pressure against it. With all of you, last year, I took to the streets hidden behind my Anonymous mask to defend my right to digital privacy. We made so much noise that hundreds of millions of young people throughout the world joined us on InLine, abandoning the traditional services to the oldies.

My mom has always encouraged me in this fight. She even told me many times that Internet couldn’t change the world unless we started using different tools from those provided by the world before us. Basically, if shareholders are pulling the strings you might as well hang it up. You’ll always be a slave.

My mom isn’t so uncool, after all. I suddenly feel closer to her and I miss her. I think again about her warnings: if there’s a major crisis, centralized technologies will break down first. For example, after only two days without human intervention, nuclear power stations will automatically shut down. InLine will last longer, because each of us is a little part of InLine

Well, all that is just theory. Because to send my messages, I use my phone. The government can’t decipher the data that passes to your computers, but if it knows my number, it knows where to find me. The SUV doesn’t need to be parked by the side of the road to follow me. On its GPS map, there’s a blinking red light with my name on it. Not Tequila, my real name.

Farewell, friends. I’m disconnecting. This moron in the SUV, whoever they are, is going to see me disappear from their radar screen. Poof!