and almost endless expanse of concrete, stops in the path of a tank, and waves his arms. Confronted with his pants and shirt, black and white cloth simple against the gray landscape, the green and brown of the metal beast’s skin seem almost festive. One day, perhaps, there will be celebrations here, but now only the silence of a world’s held breaths and a world’s stilled hearts, waiting, afraid to look, afraid to look away. So many endings stretch toward the horizon, so many ways for one man to live or die protesting yesterday’s uncounted deaths in this same place, but in the end we choose the easiest: A man walks out of a square, and is forgotten.