Visit the brand new transfer station, spanking clean. Return home and excitedly relate the news. "You're raving about a dump?" Never mind.
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Some thirty years ago, I searched for a signature fragrance. My mother wore Chanel No. 5.  I wanted something more modern, subtle. I tried Ungaro, Issey Miyake, Creed (the scent of Jackie O and Princess Grace). All seemed too strong for me. I smelled something wonderful on a friend and inquired what she wore. Of course, perfume interacts with one’s body chemistry individually, yet I tried her brand.

Carolina Herrera Parfum is described as “lively blends of apricot, orange blossom, Brazilian Rosewood, bergamot and crisp green notes to exude mystery and intrigue; accentuate feminine appeal”…sophistication.

I would feel naked without it.

#RetroFlash; 100 words

This was in late 1972, when recycling of glass had just become a thing, and we wanted to do our part.
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The offer we couldn't refuse: the Eco-Freaks needed a large truck, and the mobster had one.
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