On the Road Imprint / Timothy Han Edition Perfumes 2015

It was dusk. He stood on the grimy, soot-blackened pavement and watched the departing carriage. Now and then, powerful clouds from the chimneys of the nearby factory obscured his view, but even in those moments, the clattering of hooves, like a merciless clockwork, steadily pierced through the sudden silence and gradually faded.

She was gone. Her father had come in person to 'bring her to reason' and she had obeyed. Perhaps she had truly been too refined for this narrow and stuffy area, mostly shrouded in dense, heavy, greasy smoke. The smoke that testified to the dominance of industrial rhythm, to which life here was subjected, and which now reluctantly receded as the night shift came to an end. Only on Sundays did the hustle and bustle of the factory rest, granting a few hours of reflection.

The unusual silence of the machines roared in his head, numbing his senses. In a corner of his consciousness, he noticed that the silence smelled different today than usual. Spicier. Sometimes, towards the end of the last shift of the week, firewood was thrown into the insatiable chimneys to avoid having to extinguish the embers of expensive coal at the appointed time in the morning.

He must have stood almost motionless for a long time, kneading the coarse fabric of his cap in his hand, for now the sun sent its first rays through the dissipating haze. He turned around and walked away. Not back into the confines of her…his shack. No, a solitary walk would be better. As if by itself, his steps carried him toward the small forest. There, only a smoky hint would be felt, and the scent of the trees might do him good.