Translated Show originalShow translation
Leathery-orange in oud fur
Hello, you crazy people,
after a long time again a comment from me, okay let's have a look, lean back...
Munich. January 2019. Stachus. Oberpollinger. Sometime between 5:00 and 7:00. A confused and overstrained perfume addict is looking for new prey.
He's hurrying through the shelves. The glassy gaze beats from wristwatch to shelf and that to the beat of the saleswomen's clattering high heels.
His nose teases, he tries to console himself with coffee, often in vain. She screams, "Cut the crap! I want to go home!!".
His otherwise favorite organ (yes.) becomes his worst enemy. -Where's Archilles when you need him?-
Memo. Parfums de Marly. Roja. Vilhelm Parfumery. Creed. Penhaligons. Tom Ford. Initio. Kilian. Replica. One gets better than the other. And yet not.
"Oh ne now nevertheless too sweet and heavy", "oh ne for the money me too linear", "oh ne for the performance I do not pay 280 euros!", "Oh ne there I get myself a bottling!".
The scent strips pile up in his pockets, his trembling fingers cut into the fresh paper. Thoughts of "Edward with the scissors hands" appear: "away with it" he calls out loudly, "I have to wash my arms, I don't have a projection surface anymore!!!..." Mothers take their children by the hand in fear.
But what is there...a bright...inviting sales area...
"Dior? I can't stand a sauvage any more...but just...I know these flacons...PRIVÈ!!!!", the scream attracts a lively saleswoman, she hugs the boy, sweaty and wheezing man.
"Come, I'll show you one of our new fragrances..."
Liliane liquid. Two sprayers on the skin. The man smells... closes her eyes...sees oranges. Dry oranges. Packed in an old leather bag. Stored in the warm humid air of a cellar, in Normandy...
He's waking up. At home on his couch. His fingers are covered with Dior patches. He's in a diorama robe, freshly washed. Look at the clock, 11:32. Smells his skin no matter where, leather. Orange leather. Light tobacco. Linear, but creative and of high quality.
A distant voice makes him jump, "Excuse me, are you all right?" He's at the register. In one hand the perfume, in the other his purse. The pretty salesgirl confusedly asks him, "Where were you with your thoughts?" The man answers smiling, "in the scented sky"...
He happily leaves the store...
...but then he remembers... "but in addition to the leather scent I would need a real tobacco scent, after all it's winter...", he turns around and enters the shop...
Thanks for reading!