The new Vogue arrived today.

I love its sumptuous pages of image and scent.

Weeks before my next pelvic injection surgery and I’m hurting.

I made myself a (legal) mmj tumeric tea today, hoping that would help, but immersing my face in the perfumed, tented half of a Mon Paris sample was heaven.

I’m outside this decrepit body and floating, falling somewhere else. Thin. Healthy. In a pretty dress. Breathing in an early summer’s day.

Is this Paris?

No. Not enough beautiful bread and rain smell; though perhaps some delicious flower meadow with butterflies and other kindly bugs.

Once it wears off, I’ll try Prada Candy on my face and see where it takes me.