As she dances she does this strange thing with a small ceramic ornament - a Chaucerian female figurine with the head of a fox, no more than a couple of centimetres in height. Placing it on the bar with great care she nods in its direction in formal acknowledgement and begins to sway in time to the music.
M, who has the hots for the D.J, introduces herself as an off-duty cop but has to count her change before buying a beer.
I like the woman with the Prenzlauerberg haircut whose dancing seems a contemptuous expression of being too cool for this place. She flicks Vs across her eyes Pulp Fiction style and makes jagged, ironic shapes as the other dancers back away.
