Siebenkäs

Then he remembered another phrase:
"Language marches in lockstep with the shills.
Therefore, we must invent a new language."
This sentence... should he spread it, wildly plant it somewhere-
plant it, for example, on the toilet wall of a cafe
or in a perfume forum?
Or was he just being too serious again?
He sniffed at himself.
It was the contradiction that he liked.
Perhaps there were even several of them.
The first was called masculine & floral, even downright rosy.
Not that he appreciated either one on its own
particularly appreciated. But both at the same time was not
normal. And thus inevitably delightful.
Another consisted of green, slightly earthy garden spice,
still clinging to the spade, coupled with soapy cleanliness.
You could also say - dry and sweet.
Or even bitter and sweet.
Aramis 900 comes from America, but smells English.
Doesn't it?
Actually, that was nonsense.
Did origin mean anything to him?
For him, this fragrance came more from a country
that had not yet been dreamed empty.
Was that another quote at the end, from wherever?
How much would remain of himself,
if one deducted all the quotations, all the thought-flowers from somewhere
once written?
What kind of a man would that be, who would then stand before one?
How would he be?
In any case - elegant.
For he was, after all, undoubtedly.
By his own standards, anyway.
And that meant - not necessarily perceptible to others.
His particular vanity.
Expensive clothes that looked rather poor.
Of course, there were people who did see it clearly and
recognized. (Fortunately?)
"Clothes" he called them, if only to conceal from himself
to conceal from himself as much as possible..
could possibly call elitist.
Or - worse almost - high class. He hated the word.
He wrote it as small as possible.
Elegance, after all, was almost a value to him.
Elegance is the art of doing the same thing differently.
And it was also in Aramis 900 .
A snow-white, ironed handkerchief elegance.
That of a handkerchief that was never used,
...but only in case of a need for help..
such as a mishap of a woman or even a man
or even a man.
The elegance of Aramis 900 was restrained..
but also a bit loud. So, as elegance now times
depending on the environment more discreetly or more clearly stands out.
In this fragrance played the feminine and the masculine
a sophisticated game. Because the floral announced itself
again and again to word in the course of the fragrance.
And always seemed a little different again, when
the development of the fragrance gently changed direction.
The head is round, so that the thoughts the direction
can change direction. Was that him or Man Ray?
The scent reminded him of a very colorful pocket square,
which, yes, still seemed conservative in the overall picture.
Orange paisley pattern on a green background, the whole
against the calm background of a beige linen jacket.
This was matched by the rose-dominated floral bouquet
with a few lilies of the valley, carnations and a tiny bit of iris
Iris, which was set against a bitter-woody-early tableau with a
certain powdery, earthy aura to it.
Floral-rosy lushness paired with slight bitterness.
The principle of the unexpected.
At parties he was someone with whom one actually
with whom one actually liked to talk, was also seen with pleasure, because he
was not necessarily boring.
So understated he formulated that to himself.
At the same time, however, he was feared as a sometimes unpredictable
mood killer. From a subject like "running shoes,
that weigh under 300 grams and create a kind of booster feeling
produce," he was able to divert to child labor in 2.5 secs.
Without pulling a face. Or appearing bad-tempered
to appear.
Or the other day at the Groucho-look-a-like party.
There he stood out because instead of a costume he wore gray
Pants and a gray T-shirt that said
"Man is an animal gifted in speech, who will always
by the word."
Is that humor with thorns? A kind of rose humor?
Somehow he seemed to like to add something heavyto everything light
to anything light
Wasn't he perhaps similar to Aramis 900, which was abruptly
of floral playfulness that skipped along as cheerfully as a rose
in the buttonhole, to a vegetal-bitter
To a vegetal and bitter astringency, which could remind one
Cemeteries.
Serenity and seriousness.
Whereby he knew well how little earnestness alone was worth.
As this journalist had said in the 19th century
said? Earnestness is the mediocre, and the mediocre
is the worst, because it is boring.
Was that his real fear - to be boring?
All the elegance nothing but whitewash?
Did he even want to answer that question for himself?
In the end, Aramis 900 softened, evened out.
Wood, a fine distinguished moss note, a deep,
calm harmonious patchouli melody.
A perfectly captured essence of the genre Chypre,
that simply reconciled contradictions. His
Brother, the impetuous, iridescent-oscillating, much-
face Aromatics Elixir not at all dissimilar.
Only more restrained, more controlled, more collected.
"It's not so bad," said Aramis 900.
"Yeah, I guess you're right, I really don't have to answer all the
Questions."
"You don't have to do anything," said the scent.

In the Via Corte d'Appello to Turin, not far from the
Piazza Savoia, there was an old pharmacy, which was splendidly
fully renovated. The pale pink and pale gray painted
Baroque facade wore discreet golden ornaments, which
around the shop window and entrance. Just as impressive
full were the old polished drawer cupboards and
Shelves with jars, jars, and stone mortars inside.
The owner, a rather tall for a Turin
Man in his forties, had inherited the shop.
He occupied the spacious apartment directly
above the pharmacy and had furnished it with an impressive
Mixture of modern furniture and individual antiques
furnished, plus there were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
He hardly read, but felt books were indispensable
to keep up with hip intellectuals, artists and show-
with the hip intellectuals, artists and actors who came in and out of his house
And he did. As a popular guest at vernissages,
at fashion shows and receptions, he was an integral part..
Turin's social life
He cared little for the pharmacy business.
He had employed a bevy of competent-looking and beautiful
beautiful-looking ladies, whom he paid well
to take care of all the business.
For the whole pharmacy business he was interested
he preferred to take care of more important things
more important things, such as the photo story with the
INTERNI ITALY living magazine.
However, this Bon Vivant and Leone della società is only
the second most important person in our story.
The most important figure, however, living in obscurity, never
never seen, never heard, never perceived in any way and
yet of power not to be underestimated,
is nothing other than - a small elemental spirit.
Such a being, however, we should now not
as a purely immaterial spirit being, that would be
a rather, admittedly widespread, error.
No, we come closer to it, if we imagine
a little pixie, which also corresponds to his
which most children are familiar with from children's books
books.
But no matter what idea we form of him -
The fact remains that he is in the apartment above the
Pharmacy in Via Corte d'Appello he was very comfortable.
And the fact also remains that there was a special
Reason.
It was not because of the owner of the shop or the
Pharmacy itself, or even the old house -
which is more likely to happen.
No, it was due solely to a small vial,
which was in the Carrara marble-tiled bathroom
of the apartment. Rectangular, tall and thick-glassed,
on it a coat of arms with two reared horses
and a curved lettering: Mazzolari.
And its contents were nothing other than a perfume,
an eau de toilette to be precise.
Now our pharmacy man was anything but a
Perfume connoisseur, indeed not even a real friend of
Fragrances. But he had an aunt in Milan who loved perfume
loved and was often in Corso Monforte No. 2, where she had a
Profumeria Mazzolari. And there she bought
the perfume that was now with him, as a Christmas
gift.
But her nephew did not particularly enjoy it
he used it only occasionally, because he thought it could
it wouldn't hurt to smell of perfume
It was quite a different story with his secret
Roommate.
For him, this very scent was the reason why he stayed in the
The real reason why he felt at home here
felt at home.
Almost every day when the master of the house was absent -
and that was more than often enough the case -
our elemental spirit would go into the bathroom and take
the vial.
He opened it and applied a tiny amount of it
on his hand.
Then he retired to another place, such as the
Living room, where the many books were.
Here, in silence, he gave himself up entirely to the magic of the fragrance
that rose from his hand.
It began with fine lemon, which came on like a soft herald..
and led over into a fairy-tale green shimmering
Forest aura. Tart and yet somehow caressing. Green in all
imaginable varieties - meadow green, fir green, herb green,
leaf-green, even dwarf-cap-green, hope-green and a
very little envy green.
In addition, harmoniously matched woody tones, seasoned with
best forest floor essence and strong tree resins.
Dark, playful smoky tones sounded from the shadows,
Master Vetiver shone boldly from the deep forest oodem
hervor. In addition did delicate green-bitter Galbanum, its good,
balsamic effect. What a strange variety!
Leaf juice and needle essence, bark syrup and herbal spirit
were at work along with everything else, without being
but ever showing themselves completely bare.
A green medicine prepared by the forest itself, green-
aromatic, brewed from the good spirit of the forest.
A subtle sweetness finally tiptoed in,
beginning with fine hay-loveliness.
The cozy element of the scent reminded him of the
former occupant of the house, with whom he had also lived
and had worked, a fruit and greengrocer, who downstairs
had kept his shop with all sorts of fragrant wares,
it was scarcely two hundred years ago.
And even then it was the fragrance of nature that kept the wretch
in the house. Just as it does today.
Yes, it was true what a human child had once said
had said - nature is always new, as long as the eye remains fresh.
The pixie sniffed on, absorbed in himself.
The many-faced green of the fragrance became gold in the end,
fine, pure gold, as if spun from sunlight, sinking into the forest twilight and silently melting away.
To an elemental spirit, the most beautiful thing imaginable,
for it reminded him of the union of heaven and earth.

So they lived together under one roof and our
little spirit felt at ease all around, which is why he
his good powers over the whole property
something that gave him little trouble.
The pharmacy owner did not even notice that his business
was doing more than well, in spite of what was actually a bad situation, in spite
the declining sales due to the rapid
rising online purchases, despite his sometimes highly
nasty sales assistants, despite the far too high
Prices they charged wherever possible.
And in spite of many other dangers and hostilities,
of which he saw or felt or even suspected nothing.
For the little spirit faithfully and benevolently held his
protective hand over him
And protection, he could well need, for these were
stormy times.

Special thanks for the generous bottling and a little
Greetings from the elemental spirit go to dear Jacko.

Suddenly Richie was back.
Maybe he had been in Amsterdam, sleeping in the sleep-in
slept in. If that still existed. Or even at the Krasnapolsky.
Who knows?
Or he was somewhere else entirely.
Anyway - he was standing in front of me.
"Shall we go over there?"
He pointed to the terrace of the café on the other
Side of the street.
"Okay."
"We need to talk about perfume..." he said, while
we waited for our cappucino.
"Please, shoot..." I didn't expect any
Explanations about his whereabouts, I knew him
too well.
"More specifically, about Allure Homme, which we both
own. I discovered the common thread that makes it so
special. And incidentally also what about fragrance perception
perception in general..
"Do things..."
"Please take this seriously, you'll see..."
"I'm not saying anything..."
"Well, I've known him for at least four or five years now and
but this realization came to me only yesterday, no
I don't know why. It's like the brain has to sort through all those notes for so
to sort through all the notes to get some kind of hierarchy in there
a coherent overall picture..."
"Now I'm curious after all..."
"So - the differentiating building block, even if it's not
directly in the foreground, comes about 70% from a
Peach juice note, say Granini with that typical
overripe character, and 30% from sweetened coconut milk."
"Well, that's special. But please remember that
our chatter here usually ends up on Parfumo somehow,
and there we owe the people maybe bit more
Information, at times some may not yet
know the perfume..."
"You're weird!"
"Oh come on, like you don't know," I interjected.
"Alright - quick recap. Allure Homme is the
Urduft of a series that is quite successful. Starts in
Principle with mixed freshness from bergamot and lavender
in which quickly lightly spiced florality radiates in.
Later then sandalwood, vanilla, some tonka, a little
hinted leather. Everything soft-fresh, slightly creamy, for the
Year '99 definitely with some novelty value."
"And quite put down by many, with quite sub-
different reasons..."
"That's right - Chanel-unworthy was said, because of the main-
stream commercial character. Funny. As if they didn't also
as if they didn't want or need to sell..."
"Mr. Turin, whom we actually both appreciate, didn't
not to call it a crude copy of Cool Water..
i remembered
"Right, in some kind of educational zeal to teach Chanel
to give Chanel a lesson, so he does sometimes
sometimes quite like, even at Guerlain..."
"As if Chanel would be impressed by such a thing, the
tick completely different..."
"Anyway, in the Allure is neither an apple note nor what
Aquatic or even dihydromyrcenol balling..."
"But really, no!"
"Others accuse him of a giant jumble of notes
that don't add up to a proper composition..."
"That's more understandable, there's a lot in it
really," I replied, eager to hear what Richie would have to say about it.
would.
"A lot, actually. But that's what gives it its character.
Especially since there's that organizing accord of peach juice and
Coconut, the red thread, which is so woven that he sometimes
to be noticed and sometimes just supportive in the background..."
"Which YOU discovered..."
"Well, not just that, many already mention, but just
not what structuring significance he has..."
"You deserve a monument..."
"Bullshit! I don't want to. Although..."
"I can see it now, 4 meters high, made of Carrara marble or
or better still, carved out of oud wood..
chiseled, "Richie, discoverer of the peach-coconut complex."
"I'm too modest for that, you know - modesty
is the beginning of all reason..."
"Oh, come on. Only the lumps are modest. Brave ones rejoice
of the deed."
"Gibberish. Modesty is the fence of wisdom."
"If you're too modest, it's only by the devil's help
will get to court!"
"What shall I do at court?"
"Maybe spray around with Allure...?"
"O.k, now ma' something else. Today I wear the fragrance again
and in focus I see more the mixture of sandalwood
with lavender and only muted peach... coconut only as
little creaminess interruption or something. Well, this
mentioned chord is still there, but not quite
as prominent as I thought it was yesterday..."
"Interesting..."
"But still nice, and definitely not boring..."
"Quasi a fragrance, which from its ultimately refined
Variety of materials always reinvents itself
reinvents - or something like that...?"
"Or better, a fragrance that always creates a different
Fragrance emerges in consciousness..."
"Sounds good. Very good, even..."
"Maybe even too good...?"
Nope. Democritus says it too - in fact we
nothing, for truth lies in the depths."
"Maybe he's right. Or maybe he isn't. But anyway..."
"Do you remember once, after a Fluxus performance
after a Fluxus performance by Ben Vautier and about seven deep shots
art?"
"Sure - art is asking the question, what is art."
"Exactly. We just have to think the phrase further. That's
the good thing about it is that it allows for that..."
"All right, then. That would be - perfume art..."
"...or rather, let's just say "perfume"...
"O.k. So perfume is asking the question, what is perfume."
"Cool."
"You know what, Richie...?"
"Nope, what?"
"I think we got it again!"

(The first part you will find under the construction de toilette)

The small perfumery in the main town of the island came to her mind.
Since someone should be able to tell her something more specific.
That same day, she set out.
She had allowed herself two careful sprays on her neck..
allowed herself, enough to paint her little car with the between
herbaceous green, powdery soft and delicately woody-spicy
Fragrance. No longer than half an hour lasted
the ride - and she enjoyed every second of it.
On the main street with the shops she could not
park. On the way from the public parking lot to the
little pedestrian street where the perfumery was, she held the
small bottle firmly in her right hand, which she
still in the trouser pocket had put.
Then came the next horror.
The window of the perfumery was covered with newspaper
taped shut, a sign in the door read:
"Temporarily Closed for Renovation"
As if everything was conspiring against her.
She took a deep breath.
She needed a coffee right now.
Just a few houses down, she spotted a shop..
she didn't know yet, it seemed to be a kind of middle
of a bookstore and a coffee shop.
Well at least it was something.
And already she was sitting at a little round table close to the
Window, where various Jane Austen editions were decorated with
Beach accessories and some sand were decorated.
She didn't have to wait long for her cappucino,
a young man brought it to her, on the saucer
lay two shell-shaped cookies.
"If you have any book requests as well - the boss is
in the warehouse for a moment, but she'll be right back, I'm just here forcoffee," he said
Coffee," he said and wiped once with the
Towel over the spotless table, before he
went back behind the little counter.
The capuccino was good, very good in fact, for the fact that this was only
a bookshop.
She pulled the found bottle out of her pocket and
gave herself another economy spray on the neck.
The soft-green shimmering aura in which she now even
a hint of something like leather, fitted well
to the bitter-smooth aroma of the coffee, suited the just-
first-relax and even to the books in the window,
which she contemplated pensively.
From the back, lying in a slight dimness
of the shop she now heard footsteps, which on the wooden floorboards
sounded somehow dynamic. That had to be the boss.
Then a number of things happened at once.
She saw a perhaps forty-year-old woman in jeans and a dark
blue blouse, who was a few feet from her table
Books on a shelf. She had rather short,
blonde hair that looked as tousled as normal-
only rather expensive hairdressers could manage.
And at the same time she saw a second image, before her inner
Eye. Many years ago, at the Helene Lange
High School in Hamburg. Her best friend Carola,
yes, that was her name, stood at the cabinet and pulled out atlases.
"Well, is this going to be any good today?" said Mrs. Stockman,
the geography teacher.
Mrs. Stockman and Carola - both of whom, she noted to her amazement
to her amazement, had almost completely forgotten about them.
Yet Carola and she had been inseparablefor some time
the time when her parents' divorce had gone through
And Carola had become a kind of accomplice
because her parents were divorced too.
The owner of the shop, who had so reminded her of Carola
had disappeared into the back again.
There was no denying the resemblance, although
Carola was altogether rounder and a little smaller,
if she was not mistaken. Besides, she had moved abroad after
Tenthshe had moved abroad, for her mother had taken a
Position as an interpreter in England.
Or was it in Sweden? Why had neither of them
had contacted each other again? Why did two people who were so close
who had been so close, lost sight of each other completely?
The soft, now rather resinous-powdery scent matched
to the temporal shallowness of their trip down memory lane.
She had to smile. It was nice that she had remembered Carola again
had. And sad at the same time. Maybe she could find out something
about her and get in touch with her.
Now the blonde came back forward with some books
forward.
"If there's anything I can do for you - just let me know
say..."
"Yeah, thanks, not really at the moment. But nice
Store this is, I didn't even know about it..."
She joined her at the table.
"I just opened last week. I don't know anybody here
practically no one here yet, either."
"I live 20 kilometers away, pretty close to the ocean."
She didn't know exactly why she was telling this either.
"And what do you do, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Oh, nothing exciting, I write, for women's
journals, zeitgeist and fashion, and now and then some
Politics, but carefully dosed, so to speak."
"Great! I mean, if you can make a living doing that. And
near the sea, it sounds almost like Pilcher..."
"Well. It's not all that rosy. I have a
ten-year-old son, who does not get along here and
as a single mother, I have these doubts all the time
Am I doing this right or am I thinking too much about myself?"
She wondered how open she was about herself.
"Oh, I see. Yes, I can imagine that, it's
certainly not easy..."
She sat down at the table with her now.
That voice. It was not unlike Carola's
not too dissimilar to Carola's, but a little too deep
"Yes, it really isn't easy. I often think I
the boy just not enough..."
"I think that's what most single parents think."
"Tell me, can I ask you something weird -
is your name perhaps - Carola?"
"Now that's what I call really weird! And so beautifully direct.
But I think this directness is good. Suits you.
Just like her perfume, Miss Dior, and in the original
version."
"No way...are you sure?
She was completely gobsmacked.
"Absolutely sure, I can smell it."
"You know, I drove all the way here for this... it's a
longer story..."
"Let me just interject something before you tell me in peace
tell me. I think you worry too much about a lot of things..
that quickly mutate into worries, can that be?
that be?"
"I don't know... the Jan thing is quite real. In the end, it's true
but... a child and a boy needs a
Father..."
"Or two mothers..." She put her hand gently on the strange
Hand that lay beside the cup on the table.
The soft, rounded scent rose to their noses again,
benevolent, reassuring, and confident.
Her hand did not withdraw.

Aftermath
If one were to walk down the March path a few weeks later,
one might stop in front of the house with the little
blue balcony and admire the many plants
and flowers in the garden.
What a lot there was - beach grass carnations, coastal angelica,
red spring rushes, dune vetch, salt hare's ear, sea mustard,
pale purple beach bindweed, centaury, and
in between, lush beach grass, rough yet
cuddly, tough and wonderfully tender at the same time.
The only thing that wasn't there to see was a sign
with the words "For Sale".

1. Part (Part 2 under the EdP)
Foreplay
On her fortune cookie, which she had received after eating at the
only Asian on the island, it said one day:
"You can be only one person to the world, but to one
Person mean the whole world".
The note ended up in the wastebasket outside Hansen's Bakery.

1.Act
She was, after all, a pragmatic person. Since her
Divorce a few years ago, she had not once
once about a new relationship. She had
on this island in the North Sea
was glad that she had inherited the small house with the blue wood
balcony had inherited. It was quite enough for her and her
Son Jan, who went to the fourth grade of the only school
on the island. Besides, it was steadily going up in value,
for it was not far from the beach in a quiet,
little lane. Things were not going well with Jan at school,
every few weeks she had to have a talk with the
Class teacher because he was supposedly neither fitting into the community
community nor showed any serious interest in
Class. She tried - often successfully - to alleviate the
Worries she had about him. For
for her work she needed a clear head.
Well, that was at least half true. She was a freelance journalist
freelance journalist for various women's magazines and
got by quite well. Even though the job..
more and more like routine. She knew exactly what
what the editors wanted and delivered it. If her
everything seemed too much like a pattern, she consoled
she consoled herself with the thought of her first novel
which she had recently begun
And above all - she just went for an hour or two
walk on the beach.
So she did today, on this slightly overcast but
dry day.

2.Act
The wind blew out into the sea from the land.
She walked barefoot right on the edge where the waves
after breaking in the sand, arched into smooth,
light brown shining, very ephemeral lakes
transformed, at their end leaving even more ephemeral foam
leaving behind. Gull cries filled the air,
the crashing of the waves sounded like an endless melody..
that was soft and rough at the same time. The cold North Sea water
played with her feet, the fine brown sand seemed to hold her
as the waves receded, as if
as if to give her more traction.
She had often toyed with the idea of selling the house
at the moment she could get a good price for it.
And if they moved to Hamburg, everything would be
easier, faster, more direct. And certainly better for
Jan, because in the city there were other standards for a boy in his situation
for a boy in his situation. She wouldn't need a real estate agent
she would not need, just a sign in the garden -
that had also been enough at Buettner's a few houses up the marsh walk
up, after not even 2 weeks was a buyer
found.
Suddenly she felt something hard and smooth on her foot.
She lowered her gaze from the horizon down into the sand
and saw a green glass bottle, clean and without a label.
She picked it up, something rattling inside. It was
a small glass tube that looked most like a perfume
sample. She decided to take the bottle with her..
and examine it more closely at home.

3.Act
It was indeed a small perfume sample, crystal clear and
completely unlabelled.
She was not a particular perfume lover,
but every now and then she would treat herself to a spray of one
of the perfumes that had been given to her by various people
From various people - three or four flacons
were there, which looked quite good on the shelf in front of the mirror in the bathroom
did quite well.
She would give this found fragrance a try, why not?
What was going to happen?
She carefully put two sprays on her wrist.
The first thing she perceived was a friendly, serious,
light green note that seemed freshened by a little lemon
seemed. Immediately, the green became richer, deeper and denser,
and got supplemented by a slightly spicy touch
an even more tart, almost weather-beaten character.
It reminded her of someone whom one finds sympathetic,
but whom one would not, after all, approach without further ado.
Friendly, but firm, almost unwavering. Yes, this
Friendliness was now more evident, warm-soft, somewhat
powdery, perhaps slightly floral smelled now.
Like a discreet piece of jewelry, classy but not loud.
How beautiful such a perfume can be, she thought.
The next day, she repeated her test. And was
directly thrilled, the opening came to her now already like
a good old acquaintance. That tart, naturally-green
Self-confidence... The scent reminded her of someone,
but she could not grasp it, it was neither her mother
nor a friend. A teacher? No, they had never
smelled of anything, at most of sweat and
Austerity. That was here also to a certain Quentchen -
but it was a wonderful, helpful..
that you could confide in, if you felt like it
if you felt like it.
She made a note of these fanciful flowers which the fragrance in her
as she usually did with associations..
and phrases that came to her. Who knows?
maybe that would be sometime usable for a
Article. Or your novel.
On the third day, she enjoyed the scent even more.
Can you fall in love with a perfume, she noted to herself.
What struck her even more now was the soft-powdery,
even something noble-woody, which radiated so much warmth,
still there appeared green-herb shimmering little clouds
with that certain seriousness, but she sensed behind them
a benevolent force that knew what it wanted.
Conveying a sense of feasibility, she noted,
of the practicability of even more unusual paths.
Sure, it smelled like flowers, too, but they weren't,
that a man gave you. They were the kind you gave
maybe to a man, maybe to a woman..
a woman, to wrap her around your finger.
More and more came to her mind about this fragrance.
Still, not everything could be put into exact words.
This bewildering basket of flowers and herbs, which reminded her
reminded her of a weekly market, but at the same time
a certain bitterness, which yet had nothing of bitterness
had, because it was embedded in more comforting aspects.
A certain unpredictability, even renitence was there,
that particularly fascinated her.
And then she realized how little there was left
in the little tube.
A hot horror came over her.
She didn't know the name of the perfume or anything else
anything.
What to do?
By all means, pick up the rest. And maybe ask someone
ask.
Mrs. Scherringer's little shop came to mind, just a
a few streets away. There was almost everything, not only food
but also some drugstore products like shaving cream and
even a few fragrances.
Not twenty minutes later, she was already standing in the store
and held out her arm for Mrs. Scherringer to sniff.
"So 100% I can't say..." began Ms.
Scherringer, "but one thing I think is very likely..."
She made a mysterious face.
"And...?"
"That the scent is from Paris. As distinguished as it smells,
it can only be from there..."
"Well, thank you, that helps me a bit..."

(the second part you can find under Miss Dior ESPRIT de Parfum,
the fragrances seem very similar to me)
Sorry for the length!