Where Stardust Falls #Weekly Short-Short Note [Sausage Constellation Meteor Shower]

“It’s your turn.”
“Coming,” I replied, knowing it would be the last time I’d say that tonight.

The Sausage Constellation, which had been around since the Showa era, was quite a thriving strip joint. The naming sense was terrible, but it was loved by local fishermen, tourists, and performers alike, and it was a place where the dancers were warm-hearted.

I also aspired to be a performer here, but I never made it big. Now, I’m just a stagehand for erotic acts.

There are no young dancers left. In an age where even amateurs can make money quickly in the sex industry, nude performances are no longer necessary. With the veteran dancers retiring, the owner decided to close the place down.

“Toshi-san, let’s have a blast with the girls tonight.”
The owner showed me a one-sho bottle of sake.

On stage, the lead dancer pulls back the hem of her kimono wide and winks at the audience.

Pop!

A regular elderly customer sets off a party popper, showering the stage with stardust.

“Cleaning that up is going to be a pain,” the dancer laughed.

I strap a papier-mâché sausage to my waist and chase after her.

“Go for it!” “Oh, stop it!”

This cheering will be the last one tonight, too.

Tears stream from the corners of the running dancer’s eyes, falling toward me.

410 characters in the main text.

I am undoubtedly a man of the Showa era. I am prepared for any criticism.