08/29/2019
Aglianico
28 Reviews
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Aglianico
9
The moral game of closeness and distance
He sits in a street café on one of the last warm summer days and watches two women. One of them may be mid- to late twenties, the other ten years older. He wonders why they're sitting here in the middle of the day, during the week. You don't make a living? And then he asks himself the question about himself. Holiday, the banal answer is.
The younger one, tall, is evenly suntanned, the hair faded, lion's mane. Colorful balloon pants, festival bracelets, two visible tattoos: a heart and an oriental pattern. He thinks that she just returned from her surf holiday in Tarifa in the Bulli.
The somewhat older one wears a white blouse, a black skirt and silver earrings. Maybe a late lunch break after all. She types something into her smartphone, then puts it into her handbag, crosses her legs and watches the people passing by, drinks an espresso.
A gentle breeze goes through the canyons of the city, a scent blows over to it.
Embracing fruit. A sliced apricot, sweetened and intensified. Summery, lush fruitiness. And then there's delicate jasmine like in tea, which he loves to smell and doesn't like to drink. White, white flowers on apricot skin and flesh. But there's something else. A leather wall, a little rough, a little brittle. Tanned skin. A composition that might not fit together and yet fits his nose. A dynamic of hopping and stopping. Fruity, liquid seduction and awe-inspiring distance-seeking. Culture that is based on nature, but claims to be more. Style for the sake of elegance. Contrast to generate tension and let the clumsiness of pure desire and its immediate fulfilment sink into the swamps. A scent, he thinks, that takes time. A scent for the togetherness in the corridor of traditional cultural codes. A fragrance with a demand: Don't destroy the tension immediately, be patient! A scent like a sign against a disinhibited Carpe Diem, which makes the day and the life the slaves of the own, fleeting pleasure fulfilment.
Not quite easy, a bit exhausting, upscale, demanding. A slight challenge, as if the flowers were playing with the bees, sometimes shutting themselves off, sometimes letting the most seductive scents flow out. And all this in an idiosyncratic manner.
He rises; he wants to get to know the wearer of this fragrance. He knows exactly who and how.
The younger one, tall, is evenly suntanned, the hair faded, lion's mane. Colorful balloon pants, festival bracelets, two visible tattoos: a heart and an oriental pattern. He thinks that she just returned from her surf holiday in Tarifa in the Bulli.
The somewhat older one wears a white blouse, a black skirt and silver earrings. Maybe a late lunch break after all. She types something into her smartphone, then puts it into her handbag, crosses her legs and watches the people passing by, drinks an espresso.
A gentle breeze goes through the canyons of the city, a scent blows over to it.
Embracing fruit. A sliced apricot, sweetened and intensified. Summery, lush fruitiness. And then there's delicate jasmine like in tea, which he loves to smell and doesn't like to drink. White, white flowers on apricot skin and flesh. But there's something else. A leather wall, a little rough, a little brittle. Tanned skin. A composition that might not fit together and yet fits his nose. A dynamic of hopping and stopping. Fruity, liquid seduction and awe-inspiring distance-seeking. Culture that is based on nature, but claims to be more. Style for the sake of elegance. Contrast to generate tension and let the clumsiness of pure desire and its immediate fulfilment sink into the swamps. A scent, he thinks, that takes time. A scent for the togetherness in the corridor of traditional cultural codes. A fragrance with a demand: Don't destroy the tension immediately, be patient! A scent like a sign against a disinhibited Carpe Diem, which makes the day and the life the slaves of the own, fleeting pleasure fulfilment.
Not quite easy, a bit exhausting, upscale, demanding. A slight challenge, as if the flowers were playing with the bees, sometimes shutting themselves off, sometimes letting the most seductive scents flow out. And all this in an idiosyncratic manner.
He rises; he wants to get to know the wearer of this fragrance. He knows exactly who and how.
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