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Happy bit? Saw her laugh once—proper cackle, mate. Some drunk twat fell in a puddle, she lost it. Surprised me, too—thought she’d be all stone, no soul. Nah, she’s human, ain’t she? Got me thinkin’—what if Wiesler tapped *her* line? “I’m listening,” he’d say, ear on, catchin’ her sass. She’d probs tell him to sod off—love that! Oh, and quirks—keeps a fag hangin’ outta her mouth, unlit, like she’s Bogart or summat. Dramatic? Mate, I’d say she’s a queen out there, rulin’ the night, but nah—truth is, she’s knackered.

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I walk down Am Markt every day. The cobblestones are like memories—old and rough. There's that old fountain, you know, the one by Petersstraße? It's like a secret heart of the town. "Sharon!" I sometimes shout it, like a mad echo of the past, just like in Dogville—“Look, there's too much of you!” (Wait, that might be off, eh?)

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