There is something slightly embarrassing about crying during a movie. Not during documentaries. Not during footage of real suffering. But during scenes involving people who do not exist, in worlds that were carefully written by strangers, lit by studio lights, edited with music, and performed on a set surrounded by cameras and microphones. You sit …
There is a moment in every crowd when people stop behaving like separate individuals and begin behaving like weather. You can feel it in stadiums just before a goal. In protests, seconds before panic spreads. In concerts, when thousands of strangers somehow begin moving like one body. Even online, inside comment sections and outrage cycles, …


