Zwischen neun und neun

In a modest Viennese shop on Wiesengasse, the day begins with the routine hum of regulars—students buying “sour sweets,” a hairdresser’s assistant grabbing a simple bite, a civil servant ordering a slice of cold meat. The proprietor, a sharp‑tongued old woman named Johanna, runs the place with a mix of practical thrift and wry observation, turning every small complaint into a lively exchange that paints a vivid portrait of the neighbourhood’s ordinary life.

The steady rhythm is broken when a hulking stranger named Stanislaus Demba forces his way in, bruised elbows and all, demanding a buttered roll with a hurry that borders on desperation. His irate rant about a mis‑weighed shipment of Hungarian cheese quickly turns the shop’s chatter into speculation, hinting at a larger, perhaps unsettling, entanglement beyond the daily grind. The scene sets a tone of crisp humor and quietly building intrigue, inviting listeners to linger over the characters’ quirks while something deeper stirs just out of sight.