Times change so slowly.
They would shiver if they thought about it. In February, when the squares are full and the bridges heave with sighs, they want freedom, no less.
Have you visited there on holiday? asks a colleague.
Yes.
They know they deserve a break. Is this just their week in the sun? How long before we know?
Autumn is too long. It is immediate change they want. Crowds touching the city of the dead, North Africa. A distant call to prayer. Soldiers in tanks shake hands with locals waiting, waiting. They call it ‘unrest’. The unrest of years.
MW Bewick 