Bea was running late. She hoped it came off like a cute girl-next-door personality trait, like she’d show up all frazzled, tripping over her words, a little out of breath, her cheeks flushed and her smile wider than ever, like, I’m here, I rushed all the way here just for you.
To those of us who lived in Europe at the time, photos of Independence Square were immediately recognizable. They represented shared wounds and terrifying possibilities for the near future.
