My Laudatory Writing to Perfume

Today I feel like writing. Not necessarily about nothing or anything, which this might be one of the best aspects to write about. This is not my first time. I feel like writing a lot. From anger to despair. Oddly two examples from what I claim detachment. It must be due to alphabetically order and there are several others in between. That must be it. I feel a bit rusty on this. I shall impose to myself a weekly based writing. No, it must be natural. It must flow. Flow like a non-dried river would flow in the middle of any Season. Like the morning breathe which allow us to smell the fresh baked bread coming from somewhere we cannot identify once our senses are still trying to gather. At least as I imagine it would be if I live somewhere around some bakery and not in some street of light where you can inhale the fresh pollution for the morning while the odor of animal feces (ahah…feces…always makes me laugh) embraces you with a cozy welcome to the street. Thank God for the old lady, ok so she maybe is not that old, I am not sure, but she is older than me or at least I hope she is older than me, or poor her, the old lady who lives in the walking odor perfume that inhabits in my building, to be more accurate, in the building in which I also inhabit.