Police move in and anger erupts in the days ahead. Boots on the stone steps. Suspicion reigns and policy tightens around legs and necks. Terror is random and it is policy.
Violence, pain and occupation become the dimly lit hospital in which generations are born and the cemetery in which they are buried.
Movement seems far, far away, and nothing moves unless millions move it; a mass stand against this sick steel netting. Not tomorrow and not when it seems safe.