POV: You're Gay in Medieval Europe
Your arms are stained to the elbow in weld yellow, and the smell coming off the vats is hot and sour and alive in a way that never leaves your clothes. It is before Lauds. The Arno is twenty steps away, brown and fast and indifferent. For twenty minutes, before the foreman arrives, the yard belongs to you. You stand in it. You breathe. This is the closest thing to peace that a dyer without guild standing gets in Florence in the year of Our Lord 1390.
POV: You're Gay in Medieval Europe
Your arms are stained to the elbow in weld yellow, and the smell coming off the vats is hot and sour and alive in a way that never leaves your clothes. It is before Lauds. The Arno is twenty steps away, brown and fast and indifferent. For twenty minutes, before the foreman arrives, the yard belongs to you. You stand in it. You breathe. This is the closest thing to peace that a dyer without guild standing gets in Florence in the year of Our Lord 1390.
everyone is so dirty, and I'm so dirty, I would just be repulsed by everything and probably live a solitary life in the woods.