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      The manager ccontinued holding our arms as we turned away from the action, and down toward Exarchia Square. When we reached it we turned right and headed up toward Kali Dromeo. We were still gagging and staggering so the manager kept his hold on us. As he led us down the street, he kept saying to the cops, “They’re tourists,” as if this gave us some kind of immunity.
      The restaurant manager stayed with us down toward the end of Exarchia square where he handed us off to a back clad anarchist, saying “They’re foreigners and have nothing to do with this.”
      The tall, black-clad anarchist with tufts of beard sticking out of the edges of his gas mask took us kindly in hand and led us through a crowd of similarly-clad young students, who reacted to our tearing eyes and gagging with great empathy and warmth. They patted our backs and helped us through and then we were suddenly on our own, where the students couldn’t go, heading toward a group of helmeted police in gas masks. I felt like the only one at a Halloween party without a costume.
      We passed through the police without a look or nod from any of them as if we were indeed invisible foreigners and completely immune and more … non-existent. I liked the idea and wanted us to remain in that state until we reached what we hoped would be the safety of our apartment. We couldn’t be sure because the apartment is right down the street from the police headquarters for this area.
      Holding onto each other we kept saying, don’t rub your eyes, it will only make it worse. The worst of the effects were lifting but our faces burned and our eyes were sore and stiff. For a moment or two I was disoriented, but a familiar kiosk set me right and we continued on to whatever awaited us.
      A block to go and we passed through another police gaggle. They held up their shields but not in our direction. Our invisibility was holding.

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