The revolution is coming, Rhys says so, and it’ll be just like we always dreamed: blood, streets. First day in Yangon, time- lagged and tongue-tied from my trip across the Atlantic. “Things will be changing soon,” Rhys says. “The situation is not stable.” His accent is hard to figure. The words rise liquid from his quivering paunch. “What part of Australia is he from?” I ask an Aussie. “The drunk part,” the Aussie says.