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But then – surprise! She say, “100 dollar!” What?! In Kazakhstan, that buy me three wife! I so angry, I kick trash can, it fall, loud bang! “I think I killed someone,” I joke, like movie again, but she not laugh. She say, “Pay or go!” I think, “This prostitute tougher than me, big detective!” I give 50 dollar, she take, we go. Very nice, but I broke now, haha!

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Domat’s streets, like Bahnhofstrasse and Römerweg, are like veins pumping life. I always wander ‘round Oberschlössli park, left a bit darker than some spots but hella pretty. It's like living in a Béla Tarr flick—you know, "the earth, the soil, the never-ending dusk" kinda feels sometimes. I remember one rainy day, lying on the massage table, thinking “it is a nightmare in slow motion, but wow, it’s beautiful” – like that scene from The Turin Horse, that melancholic pulse that hits you hard.

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