"A city guerilla should be like the fish in a shoal"

Scene: A flat in Tehran. Second floor, stairwell reeking from gas because of leakage (plenty of gas in this country). 402 – behind the door, amid the petit bourgeois knick-knack, a revolutionary cell is forming. Gas fireplace with logs of plastic. Clay plaque on the wall: "God bless this lousy apartment." Embroidery on tables, chairs, drawers and in windows. Mattresses in back rooms, entrance with fresh flowers on a mahogany chest to appease suspicious neighbours.
In the street outside no 90, a single street lamp pushes impatient shadows through the grating of the gate. Steps resound on the stairs. The clatter of locks. Muted greetings. Door phone perpetually buzzing. It's a beehive. Something is in the making.