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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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Then, I head down to the park by the Daugava River. It’s a beautiful spot, man. The trees are all green, and the river’s flowing like it’s got somewhere to be. I’m strumming my guitar, just me and the birds. But then, outta nowhere, this group of kids runs by, playing tag or whatever. One of ‘em trips and falls right in front of me. I’m like, “Dude, you good?” He just laughs and gets up. Kids are tough, man.

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