Once
I was in Kijv. And I wasn't late for the Revolution.
The barricades were everywhere. Built with Leroy Merlin plastic bags, packed with hardened snow. Everyone was on his guards.
Eight people had already died under the EU flag.
The tituski were hitting and taking away people below my friends' apartments.
One night I was on the first line on Hrushevskoho St., where the revolutionaries were standing in front of the Berkuts. Waiting.
In the forest nearby, a few meters away from the Dynamo Kijv Stadium, an activist saluted me with a clenched fist. He then asked why I was there. You had to have a very good reason to wonder late at night on the sides of the first line. I was freezing. He gave me a pair of black gloves as a present.