Ummm…yeah…

I’m all over this.

When I got laid off in April I flew back home. My Mom just happens to live next door to a woman that works for Cartier.

I’m not a huge perfume freak but when it’s in my face…big sparkling bottles…red romantic boxes, I’m there and it’s not from a thrift store.

My Mom finally sent them to me. Boxes are fabulous…bottles are pretty. So many, over priced, pretty smelling bottles that I couldn’t use in three life times.

But I got friends.

They were in the back of my mind when this woman opened up her amour of water. Sounds sick doesn’t it?

Out of all of them I like two…both are “pour homme.” I might break into rap.

I prefer men’s cologne to women’s.

I am not a flower…never claimed to be. So why should I smell like one.

I found in that box, the ghost lurking in the moist timbers of a graveyard. That is what I was searching for.

My dark.