Chapter 87: The City of Perfume Samples

Paris is like an ongoing perfume sample. Everything smells…good. Even the alleyways. In Lansing you'd find a lurking pee odor, which sticks in your nose for at least three blocks. No, Paris's scent is subtle. I pick up hints of freshness here and there as we walk the streets. It's like visiting the mall and ebbing close to the perfume counter occasionally. Even in the crowded city streets where bodies crush together, and in other places where a hint of body odor usually hangs in the air, it is roses and jasmine.

Or it'd let visiting my favorite city in the world go to my head.

No, Paris definitely smelled amazing.

It's easy to spot the tourists from the locals, the latter dressed in black and oozing sophistication. So many people, their arms and legs knocking into one another as they crowd the streets, look as if they are one ocean, a wave of people sailing down the sidewalk in the breeze.

After exiting Vincent's private plane, which I wasted no time reminding him put out more