Morke

Hidden in an old attic, there you stand Your ornate drawers all closed I can't comprehend it At some point, my hands had to reach for it Suddenly, with one leap In my hand lay a Santalum treasure One of my first niche fragrances, and just...

It is 30 degrees in Berlin, the air is sweating, my companion and I storm like barbarians to the plastic rack where the fragrances are stacked high. On which no dust particles have a chance to settle. "Is it there?" he cried in pleading tones. His bulging...