Double Dare Prada 2015

And the child surely wants a grape sugar candy! Mrs. Miehlke's heavily made-up face between her reddish hair suddenly begins to enlarge rapidly as she leans over the high counter of the old pharmacy towards me in her white apron. Her gnarled features twist into a smile, her bony hand fiddles with the tin can, and Mother's elbow nudges my shoulder. How do you say? Thank you!
Instantly, I disappear along with my checkered sweater vest and corduroy pants into the old tin can. I dance in soft veils of powdery grape sugar, more lemon than orange, without the color of the packaging, you can never really say, as it shines and sparkles like in Grandma's snow globe, I glide on a small sled through the creaking artificial snow, dressed in Mama's brown suede jacket, warming myself in its subtle scent. I feel like I've been here for hours, in the can or in the old pharmacy. From the hall of forgotten moments, Mother and Mrs. Miehlke bleat like the adults in Charlie Brown, trumpeting and clucking in front of the beautiful wooden drawers with brass handles. Only in years will I come to appreciate their beauty, but their scent blends warmer and darker into the powdery snowstorm.
Whenever I tug at Mother's suede jacket during these hours, I also catch a whiff of her fragrance in my tin can, whose dispersing magic is gradually fading, powdery, woody, slightly resinous, and just a bit leathery.