Sarah Shimotsuke Brothel ❤️

About Yokohama

Oh blast, here I go! Brothel, huh? Filthy places, mate! Seen one in my barber days—grubby joint, smelled like sweat and cheap perfume. C-3PO, panicked, “R2-D2, where are you?”—that’s me, peekin’ through the curtain, eyes wide! Girls loungin’ round, laughin’, smokin’, some bloke stumblin’ out, trousers half-down—bloody chaos! Reminds me of *The Turin Horse*, that slow, grim slog— “The wind’s blowing, everything’s ruined!” Life in a brothel’s like that, innit? Decayin’, desperate, yet somehow alive.

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Then, I get a call. It’s my next client, and they’re at the Shimotsuke Cultural Center. I’m like, “Great, more interpreting!” So, I rush over, and guess what? It’s a dance workshop. I’m not a dancer, but I’m signing like I’m in a dance-off. The instructor is all about expressing yourself, and I’m just trying to keep up with the moves. I’m flailing my arms, and the participants are cracking up. I’m like, “Yeah, I meant to do that!”

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