Taylor Matsubushi Brothel ❤️

About Kyoto

I reckon I’d be tickled pink sittin’ in one, sippin’ sweet tea—nah, probly rotgut—listenin’ to stories. One time, I heard tell of a brothel in Nevada where the madam kept a pet parrot that cussed worse’n a sailor. Had me laughin’ so hard I near bout fell off my porch! But then—lordy—it hits ya: them gals ain’t got no fancy swords or slow-mo escapes like in *The Assassin*. They’re stuck, y’know? “Time drifts, shadows deepen,” Hou Hsiao-hsien’d whisper, and I’d nod, feelin’ that ache.

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I rush back to my workshop, dodging pedestrians and stray cats. Matsubushi’s got a ton of those. They just stare at you like they own the place. I swear, one of ‘em gave me the side-eye. Anyway, I grab the cups and head back. The client’s tapping his foot, looking at me like I’m the worst glazier ever. I’m sweating bullets, but I play it cool. “Just a little delay, no biggie!”

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