It can be that one phone call, one person on a bike that glances at you, the van that does a sudden manevour to avoid the pot hole, the man on the road who looks at you.
And then, however insignificant you are, however unimportant you are, however invisible you think you might be, that sudden gush of fear rushes over you.
Your pulse shoots up, you start to sweat, that lump gets stuck in your throat, your knees start to give.
You spend another night awake. Counting how many times the fan turned.
The author who did not wish to be named is an activist and a freelance journalist, whose feeling of invisibility is slowly giving way to extreme paranoia.