B2 a.m. Sunday morning, the circular driveway behind the tall hedge is chockablock with high-end collectable cars. Inside, the Snctm Masquerade is peaking. Music swirls, laughter rises, bodies couple and writhe. Like a bar at last call, anonymous eyes search the crowd, looking to couple up.
In the living room, surrounded by guests on sofas and chairs, Bunnyman is at work on a somewhat established actress, her arms and legs akimbo, the knots and coils of rope at once strong and delicate, like macramé. He is wearing his trademark black leather bunny mask along with a traditional, close fitting black Japanese keikogi top and loose hakama pants. His tuxedo slippers, one of 20 pairs in his collection, are embroidered in gold with a screw on the left foot, the letter U on the right.