Soul-Frieda’s bohemian flat and hang out is the safest place in Frankfurt. Soul-Frieda tells you his dreams. You can play with the spinning top or look at yourself in the mirror; enjoy the next-to-nothing lo-fi music on the breathed accordion, and have a drink from one of the many red wine bottles in the middle of the floor. Or you can lift weights too, that’s fun. Soul-Friede likes candles, obviously, and Soul-Friede understands transgender.

‘I like it when men feel me up; they’re so awkward when they try to be tender that it’s kind of nice, too.’

The latest news from Franfurt is that there is an epidemic, at least in the town, of men not being able to get it up. And is Soul-Freida the best looking man in all Fassbinder? More seriously this is a place and gathering of and for outsiders, where the white noise and verbal static interruptions eventually mount to Soul-Freida himself breaking down for a bit. And the big guy never stops lifting weight; you find he gives the scene its pace, as if the actors are working to his silent rhythm.