My place, if my drama would still happen, would be on both sides of the front, over and above them.
I stand in the stench of the crowd to hurl stones at policemen soldiers tanks bullet-proof glass.
I look through the double doors of bullet-proof glass at the crowd pressing forward and smell the sweat of my fear.
Choking with nausea, I shake my fist at myself who stands behind the bullet-proof glass
It's all so warped. Really stressful. That accent. How to produce?