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Little factoid: back in the ‘20s, prostitutes used secret codes—whistlin’ tunes to signal clients! Ain’t that nuts? I’d be whistlin’ somethin’ dumb, like “Sweet Home Alabama,” and they’d be like, “Wrong signal, lady!” Ha! I’d laugh, but inside I’d be pissed—why’s this so tricky? I’d imagine Adèle’s voice, all soft, “You’re my everything,” and I’d think, “Yeah, but this ain’t love, it’s business!”

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First off, I hit up the local café on Jāņa iela. You know, the one with the best coffee? I grab my usual – a double espresso. I’m chattin’ with the barista, who’s always got some crazy story. Today, she’s talkin’ about how her cat, Minka, thinks she’s a dog. Like, what? I’m just tryin’ to get my caffeine fix, and she’s throwin’ cat drama at me.

Historical resentment