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Now, *Werckmeister Harmonies*—you seen it? That whale, massive, rotting—reminds me of her, this prossie I met. She was a mystery, like Tarr’s long shots, yeah? “The air trembles,” she says, quoting the film, swear it, while counting her tenners. Made me laugh—hooker with a cinephile soul! Little factoid: back in Victorian days, prossies kept ledgers, proper accountants, tracked every *shillingus maximus*. Surprised me, that—thought they just, y’know, winged it.

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So, I’m strolling, minding my own biz, when I see this cute café on the corner of Ulica bana Josipa Jelačića. I’m like, “Yo, let’s grab a coffee.” I walk in, and the barista? Total legend. He’s got this wild hair and a smile that could light up the whole street. I order a cappuccino, and he’s like, “You want it with a sprinkle of magic?” I’m like, “Dude, if that’s a thing, gimme!”

D.C.’s H Street embedded with deaf culture