In Hornergasse, the alleys breathe secrets—dark, winding, alive with whispers and the pulse of DJ Mehdi echoing from cracked windows above. There are no men here, only animals: a fox in silk grinds beans behind the counter of Just Coffee, her espresso strong enough to stop time; raccoons sip from chipped porcelain cups, jewels glinting beneath their coats; a peacock struts past, feathers shimmering like neon. A deer with gold-hooped ears speaks in six languages at once, her voice low and warm, drawing in an owl, a goat, and a greyhound who listen as if their lives depend on it. Outside, the shadows are thick with perfume and possibility, and inside, steam rises like memory, folding the present into something timeless. No names, no past, just the hum of stories passed paw to paw, claw to claw. The coffee is bitter, the glances sharp, and the warmth unmistakable in this nocturnal world where only animals gather—and all that matters is coffee.