ElPosto

She wore corduroy pants and often a "Bush" band shirt. Her hair was always just done up with a scrunchie. Maybe a little kohl and that was it.
She -only she- could scold me so nicely " Luuuuke" with a mischievous grin and look at me almost impudently mischievous.

So we sat there 14/15-year-old on our meadow in the summer of '98, have drunk sticky iced tea, Luckies smoked and written cheesy poems. No desire to parents, school and haste not seen what else. We had us and our dreams; there on the meadow at "our " tree.

I sit in front of the "this is not a blue bottle" - bottle, sniff it, and can smell these moments, days, weeks and "they". The little forest with the ivy-covered trees, the lily of the valley at the edge of the forest, the lilac bush and all the sweet, green trades on this meadow of ours.

I was in love.
She could not love me. That's what she told me. In the summer ; back then.
The last time I saw her was in 2003. This blue bottle in my hand I love now. In February. And wait for the summer.

2003. Summer. In a year I have my high school diploma and the serious of life will begin after that.
But that's a year from now. Now is now. Now I sit in Dingle at breakfast and listen to the stories of the Dingle natives.
They are just great; the stories . And the people.

One story says that in the bay of Dingle lives a dolphin and shows up now and then .

At a later hour I look out at the bay together with an all american girl, a student with indian roots, some cliché-high-school-footballers, my fellow traveler and 3-4 irish employees of the hostel where we spent the night. We are all pretty drunk and/or stoned and I slip out the sentence mentioned in the headline.
Everyone laughs. Except the Irish.

The thing they do - and I swear I know this to this day - is smell the same. It felt like 50 percent of all Irish men smelled the same anno 2003.
Since I call the above fragrance my own, I also know what they smelled like and why.
"Patrick is simply good. And yes.... somehow also a bit as one imagines Ireland. Green and fresh and tart. And sometimes also a little bit sweet.

When I put it on I feel good around my heart and I wish I would stand at this bay again. And I know I will. Someday.

I can't wait to come home...

If I could, could, wanted, had to, then, yes, then he would be my number one man today
Ten out of ten. No more bets
Press the sprayer and it pops.
The full load of cloves and cinnamon will pop into your nose and catapult you into winter wonderland.
Soon the tobacco and his buddies vanilla and tonka (but thank god they are not too much in my nose) sneak in and kidnap you, take you with them and don't let go.
But watch out! This only happens if you really like the sweet crackers. Everyone else is in danger of getting a headache.
But get into it and you'll see. You'll smell your wrist and think, "Wow!"

Instructions for use: 1 sprayer in the air and place underneath. Then put 1 more sprayer in the air and wet your wrists. Anything more than that is bodily injury to other people.

So, well, .... could, wanted, might, should, must, br />
.... then he's my number one. In winter. In every. Forever.

Looking for a Christmas present for Gabi ( see my commentary on what about adam ) I stumble into an esoteric-alternative-and-so-laden on Ehrenstraße in Cologne and get killed.

A wall of scent - coming from the incense rack - beats on me and beams Gabi to the spot and stops because she smelled just like this shop.
Here a giant flood of patchouli, there wooden and from over and over I smell things I have never smelled before.

With the first spray this perfume immediately reminded me of this shop and of the lady mentioned. The scent is warm and earthy, but not at all musty or gravelly. And just like in the shop there was something new to discover with every step, with every look, you discover something new with every spray

So I stumbled dazed out of the shop onto the cold, dark and wet street and thought of my girl. And I laughed. Because I had forgotten to get a present

It's late, blue hour. She is already groping along the street a little tipsy. Actually an area where you don't want to be at this time of day but she doesn't care about that now.

Some guy comes up to her, she doesn't like him. He gets pushy and harasses her. In her distress a silent "help" comes over her lips.

Suddenly everything happened very fast. Out of the corner of her eye she sees an ashtray flying which fully catches the pushy guy. Out of the shadows of the night, as if from nowhere, the guy is beaten up with a bouquet of roses by a figure wearing a harmless blue dress and a little too much lipstick. She's confused.

The bad guy is lying there dazed and she doesn't really know what happened.
The figure in the blue dress looks at her and speaks in a deep voice: "go home, that's enough for today"

She wakes up the next morning with a skull. She has the smell of roses in an ashtray on which strangely enough lipstick remains are in the nose. Strange...