He looked harried, standing there in the middle of the street, with a suitcase at his feet and a laptop bag slung across his shoulders.
He held a dozen little white strips of cardboard, which he was sniffing, one by one. Perfume samples, from a beauty shop just a few steps away.
Was he on a business trip, trying to grab a last minute gift for a loved one - his partner, his secretary, his mistress - back home?
I smiled at him as I walked past. He glanced up at me, then went straight back to sniffing his perfume samples.
Sylvain is heading to Sweden again in a few days. When he comes back from this type of trip, he brings me delicious oatmeal biscuits. Smoked salmon. Cheese. Fluffy blankets.
I prefer to choose my own perfume. Bring me back food and locally made products any day.
Although I suppose if I lived in another time, in another place, perfume from Paris would be pretty darn special. Maybe just as special as smoked salmon from Sweden.