Gotoh | Juan Patched

He sat back. The Gotoh Juan was whole again. The scars remained on the spruce top, faint lines where the lacquer had craze-checked, but the structure was sound.

He picked up the phone and dialed a number he hadn't called in years. It was a conservatory in Tokyo. gotoh juan

Gotoh picked up his chisel. He didn't use sandpaper for the bracing; he scraped the spruce until it was thin enough to breathe, thick enough to hold the weight of a soul. The room smelled of cedar, varnish, and stale tea. He sat back