A cinematic scene. The interviewer's voice cuts through the quiet street as the microphone edges into the corner of the frame. "Interview on the Street!" he announces. The young woman's fingers tighten around her eyewear as he asks, "So, why do you dress like a Victorian accountant who got lost on her way to a steampunk convention?" She hesitates, her smile faltering. "Uh, I—I just like the aesthetic, I guess?" The interviewer interrupts, "And that necklace—did you steal it from a pirate ship or is it just a really fancy napkin ring?" Her nervous smile twists into a frown. "That's—actually, it was my grandmother's, and—" She cuts him off, her voice sharpening. "You know what? Your questions are worse than your haircut." The interviewer stutters, but she’s already turning away, the microphone still lingering awkwardly in the corner of the frame. The afternoon light glints off her cuff as she waves a dismissive hand, the dust motes swirling in the sudden shift of air..