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Oh, and the typos—soryy, fat fingers, wine’s flowing, y’know? Escorts got stories, too—like that rumor ‘bout some duke in Essos who hired ten at once, then vanished. Probs dead in a ditch, poor bastard—overdosed on “company.” Makes me cackle, imagining his face. Anyway, it’s a game, innit? Escorts play it better than most—sly, slippery, like shadows in that film I love. “The past is a strange place,” movie says, and escorts? They’re living it, dragging it into now. Hate ‘em, love ‘em—can’t look away. You? What’s yer take? Spill it!

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So, I’m rubbing my nose, and I decide to walk it off. I stroll down to the Nagai River. The water’s sparkling, and I’m feeling a bit better. I see some folks fishing, and I think, “Man, I should’ve brought my gear.” But then I remember I can’t even catch a cold, let alone a fish.

U.S. Catholics invited to support Nagasaki Bell Project as a sign of faith and solidarity with Catholic legacy in that Japanese city