Few tenacious yet cautious steps are transformed by the sound of gun fire. Tear gas is pouring around the corner. We are on the run, so too are a handful of cameramen and journalists with credentials that legitimate their presence on the inside. I mumble something as we stumble past John Vidal, he doesn't register. Yuill tries again, affectionately hitting him.
Tear gas speaks for itself.
Crazy, but the three of us change direction straight into the almost romantic midst. John Vidal is not happy. You have to spit all the liquid out of your mouth as it is burning. The pain forces you to shut your eyes. I. He stops, uncertain if he can go on.