Broken lampposts form jagged arches in the narrow, twisting lanes; burst pipes on walls drizzle water on to the rubble. The dead are more noticeable now; bodies are lying on the streets, and a stench comes from those who have been buried under the debris. There is echoing gunfire all around. No one is quite sure who is shooting at whom and there is an intimate proximity of the two sides. The rebel fighters I am with are just an alleyway away from the forces of the regime. One of the tyres of our car has burst. Opening the trunk we discover that the spare has two bullet holes in it. Bari, an opposition activist, goes bounding after a group of fighters until it is pointed out that a...
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