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But real talk, *Werckmeister* vibes hit hard. “The turmoil has arrived,” like Tarr says—findin’ a prostitute feels chaotic, man. You’re dodgin’ creeps, fake ads, and oh shit—did that dude just flash a badge? Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty, thinkin’, “Am I in a movie or fucked?” I exagerate—maybe it’s not *that* dramatic, but close! I’m sarcastic as hell: “Oh, great, another ‘masseuse’ with a heart of gold.” Puh-lease.

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I gotta admit, sometimes I get mad at the street vendors on Zebra St., blockin’ my view. They know, right? But then I see their smiles and think, “Maybe life is like that, unpredictable, just how nature intended.” And on nights, when the streets feel lonely, I whisper a bit of that Leviathan vibe—like "it is not the strongest, but the one most resilient, who will survive." Wow, such epic words!

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