Floyd

Stealthily, as if he were entering a porn video store for the first time in his life, he scurries through the golden door of the castle perfumery. His eyes wander almost guiltily across the many small bottles and cardboard boxes on the shelves of the small establishment, when a lady dressed entirely in night colours detaches herself from a conversation with customers of an advanced age to address him. "How can I help them" she asks, but without this almost reproachful undertone, which as a middle-aged man, whose clothing conveys a more cultivated vintage understatement, is often found in more noble boutiques. "Do you have Black Hashish or Black Afgano?" he asks in muted volume and feels the looks of older customers in his back. "We have Black Afgano." she says and has already put the little bottle in front of him on the counter. She lets him smell the lock, but not hide it, as the dealers in the castle garden would have done, no, quite frankly. "That's a very intense scent," she says and winds herself for a moment to take the C word in her mouth, "Cannabis is very dominant there," she finally overcomes herself. Exactly what I was looking for, he thinks and sprays the black substance on his right wrist, which reminds him a lot of the oil he used to be familiar with.
While he tries to decipher the huge opening of the BA, the lady discreetly places another, significantly larger vial on the table. "This is P 100 - anniversary, our own creation, you could also like that," she says and hands him the cap. "This one's similar, not quite so strong and he's putting his focus more on patchouli." she continues. For a long time he dips his nose into the small golden cap before spraying his left wrist with it with the words "I really like that, I love Patchouli, too".
In fact, the two are very similar, he thinks, but while his right wrist is full of dark resin, angular and exalted fragrance explosions, the play on his left wrist remains rather tame.
Well composed, warm, harmonious and calm, the woody earthy patchouli and cedar symbiosis complement each other here with the oud, making it softer and pleasing, the ambergris in the background is another soft focus. Frankincense, spices and sandalwood are the tame, smoky resinous and woody spicy opponents here, at the beginning still very well perceptible they step however over the many coming hours more and more into the background, before they are overtaken again clearly later by the actual main actors in the fade-out, which represents for him the only perceptible development of this smell, whose durability is definitely above average. The Sillage is orderly in the first 2 hours, however not exuberantly, afterwards it remains on a half arm-length, until it comes closer after further hours.
While he decides to go for the black Afghan, the lady fills him with the P 100. This bottling will make it clear to him in the coming weeks that it certainly can't always be the drone of a BA that P 100 will also have its lovers, but he himself will decide on a more dissimilar quiet treader.

Coming from the Bowery we turn left at City Hall Park towards Brooklyn Bridge. Majestically golden yellow in the evening light shimmering she rises before us. As we pass them, I close my eyes in excited anticipation of what they might smell like, the dense forests of Brooklyn. So this is where it all started, The Woods from the Brooklyn Soap Company. I feel our taxi leaving the bridge and turning right towards Brooklyn Heights.
For a moment I smell fresh, resinous spices, mandarins, ginger and pepper notes are perceptible as well as initially indefinable warm woods. It goes very quickly until the fresh spice turns into smoky resinous nuances. Here, nutmeg in combination with cashmere wood, little incense and lots of myrrh can be recognized quickly, underlaid by pleasantly sweetish resinous benzoin. Warmly the smells waft through the taxi that I still do not dare to open my eyes. I associate densely grown trees with golden yellow resin and lots of Commiphora shrubs, sweating, dripping and yet already drying on the way to the ground. However, only one hour passes before this warm Sillage clearly decreases. I stick my nose out to the window: the scent now shifts slightly into the musk-like, the frankincense now also gains the upper hand a little more, but rather owed to the decreasing other scents. A three-hour fade-out begins. Voices, brown and red brick houses shimmer more and more through my more and more open eyelids.
Interesting and beautiful, but still rather well-behaved and unspectacular it was here. This is probably what one expects from a daily, relaxing walk in the woods. Only the typical trees of the forest I missed a bit. Adventure is somewhere else. I will not include it in my collection for the time being, but I will keep it in good memory.

The Durance is a river in the region Provence-Alpes-Côte d'Azur in the southeast of France. Pétillante Verveine is certainly the fragrance from Durance that best reflects this region.
With his really tingling citric head notes, which are combined right at the beginning with the cedar and the discreet musk, he reminds me of the dog days in southern France. A small street cafe in a small village situated on a rocky and yet dry forested mountain slope with tightly nested stone houses overlooking the Durance, a soft drink in the hand.
A great development of the fragrance is of course not to be expected due to the simple composition. It may be more woody and musky, but the citric freshness always remains dominant. His restraint in Sillage (close fitting) and durability (about 3 hours) stand for the Bonvivant in the original sense, enjoyment with measure.
I find it somewhat inappropriate that this is classified as a purely feminine fragrance, since it is rather harsher than, for example, Verveine by L'Occitane, which passes for unisex. The latter was my first choice last summer. But when it started to weaken, I liked to add the harsher Durance EdT. They get along very well, the two of them.
Oh and because of the excellent value for money I also like to use it to refresh the scented bags in the wardrobe.

"Captain," mumbles Ricky Hall, the barber, into his dark brown full beard, bends over the table from his worn red Chesterfield armchair and tips both of them a good shot of Bay Rum into the Earl Grey, "Your EdP has disappointed me." Captain Fawcett twists his moustache and pulls up his left eyebrow, while he watches his counterpart in disbelief rubbing an orange peel into his drinks. "No, sorry, but if you want to make an impression with a real scent, you have to come up with something." ricky hisses, dips his cigar in honey and lights it discreetly with a huge, fiercely smoking incense stick. "Now smell the tea!" hums Hall. The captain also leans over the table to carefully smell the rum, bergamot and orange zest over the cup as Ricky puts the incense stick on his saucer and blows some honey smoke into his face. "That's a top note, isn't it?" the barber grins and begins to dip his glowing cigar tip into soft, resinous maple benzoin.
Captain Fawcett leans back: "This smells spicy, resinous, balsamic." "And smokes pretty good, doesn't he, Captain?" the barber interrupts him, "and now there's something green!" Ricky throws a sticky lump of galban resin into the ashtray and holds his Zippo to it. "Well, what do you say, Captain?"
Fawcett opens his tie: "Yes, green, but also resinous!" "Hall says pregnant with meaning, squeezes the warm, soft maple benzo with the hot fork into the galbanum mass and mixes a delicious vanilla pod under it, sprinkles some thyme and coriander on it and pushes the whole thing next to the teacup. "What do you say now?"
Fawcett seems quite obviously amazed: "That's...smoky, masculine, resinous, but also spicy sweet, but not too sweet, that's...", the captain leans back relaxed again, he can barely recognize the barber through all the haze, so he closes his eyes. Several hours pass in which both surrender to the wafting scents, which lose themselves only extremely slowly in resinous, balsamic warmth. "...great!" Fawcett finally finishes his sentence. "I want to capture this fragrance for eternity! The men should be able to wear it in autumn, winter and spring whenever and wherever they want. But they shouldn't wear too much of it, that's what we should tell them. You can smell them against all the sea winds. This liquid gold shall bear your name, Barber!"
"Respect, Captain!" says the barber and adds, "We call him booze and cigarettes, OK?"

A ten for the fragrance right at the start in my first rating, uiuiui, daring, some may think. However, I am already approaching my 50th birthday and have already been allowed to wrap myself in many fragrances of different price categories in my life. When I received a sample of the fragrance last year, however, the unexpected happened: For the first time I was so taken with a scent that I was happy like a child inside. I ordered the fragrance the next day and after four months I can say that I still feel that way when I wear it.
The first impression is like arriving at the airport in Havana and by that I don't mean the eternal waiting time at passport control, but the moment when you step outside: this warm Caribbean wall and the desire for a cool refreshing drink. Cuban Cedar & Lime fulfils both at once and much more.
The top notes cedar, bergamot and lime come in here together with the heart notes leather and grapefruit. This is the magic wall that pushes you directly from the airport into the leather armchair in Hemingway's favourite pub, with open, oversized, dark, (cedar) wooden colonial style doors, whose scent is mixed by the moist warm air with the armchair, which actually only consists of patina and the mojito. Only that due to typical Cuban delivery problems the mint for the Mojito ran out and the alcohol has already evaporated before the drink reaches the customer. Instead, a splash of grapefruit somehow crept in, which, like the bergamot, creates a wonderful connection between the fresh lime that was just hanging on the tree in front of the restaurant and the warm and resinous notes of the cedar and the spice of the leather
This impression remains very long, the lime evaporates slowly and imperceptibly like the grapefruit and yet they remain present, like the music of the Quinteto Rebelde still remains in the room, although they have long since set out drunk in a carriage back to the mountains in the south. Over the next few hours, the musk gently emerges from the base note, like Hemingway's perfume, which slowly detaches itself from the patina of the armchair and unites harmoniously with cedar and leather, before slowly pushing it back into the background again a few hours later (it's already light outside the bar)
A fragrance for older, possibly also (grey)bearded boys in a linen shirt, worn rivet trousers and leather shoes with Hateras cap. In our regions rather for spring, autumn and winter. But then a poem, um, no, a short story, oh, what do I say, a wonderful novella!