The crowds grew even thicker, a sea of humanity across a four-lane road that would normally be filled with evening traffic. The Rue Bercy cafe and restaurant staff manned the front of their premises, customary tables and chairs cleared well back from the moving throng lest they be overturned or swept away. It was not a uniform protest by any means, Ari observed as he strode, hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his long coat. There was no single chant, no collective purpose nor apparent organisation, just a varied diffusion of different people in different kinds of clothes, some carrying placards, some shouting in accompaniment to a nearby audiophone, some singing, and some merely marching, simply to be there, and to take part. Rue Bercy was one of Tanusha's more popular nightlife streets, particularly here where it ran through the downtown mid-high-rise of Quezon district in northwestern Tanusha. The road ran long and mostly straight for several kilometres. As far as Ari could see, the entire length was now filled with a slow-moving river of people.
