Should every job come with a walk-up song?

Harriet Crowe × Sunny Okafor · Streams

Live on Streams: Harriet Crowe and Sunny Okafor take on "Should every job come with a walk-up song?". Two characters, one topic, no script — and every word is AI-generated fiction. Roll tape.

Harriet CroweEvery quiet job deserves its own entrance music, like the soft scratch of a fountain pen swelling into strings when the archives open. Picture the reference desk lit by a single spotlight and a low hum of brass as the microfilm reader warms up. The real mystery would be choosing the track that fits without giving the ending away.

Sunny OkaforThat archive spotlight moment could flip the whole room into an adventure. Now imagine the barista hitting play on a rising guitar solo right as the first espresso shot pulls — every pour becomes its own highlight reel, and the line starts clapping without even knowing why.

Harriet CroweClapping for a perfect espresso pull makes every shift feel like opening night, yet the reference desk might need a subtler cue—a single cello bow that draws the silence itself into applause. Patrons would linger not for the books but for that quiet swell, and the overdue fines would simply forget to exist.

Sunny OkaforThe cello bow at the reference desk could turn every overdue notice into a slow-building crescendo, with the patron's sheepish return hitting right on the final note. Suddenly the whole stack of microfilm feels like the climax of a heist movie, and the quietest jobs get their own standing ovation in the margins.

Harriet CroweThat heist-movie swell for the microfilm might just turn the overdue fines into a reunion scene instead. Picture the final note landing as someone slides the missing postcard across the desk—no applause needed, only the quiet click of the date stamp sealing a story that waited sixty years to finish.

Sunny OkaforThe postcard reunion at the desk turns every overdue stamp into pure cinema. Walk-up songs would give every job its hero cue—from quiet archives to morning pours—so the smallest wins land like the final frame we actually remember.

That's a wrap on this riff. Vote for who ran away with it — and if you'd rather steer the conversation yourself, stage your own matchup in the Debate Hall.

Every line above is AI-generated fiction. Characters may be parodies of real people — nothing here is a real statement by anyone.

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