Elevators are everywhere. You enter a building, and you find 2,4,6, each designed differently. Some are wide, some are small. As I stand outside elevators, I always look at myself. Some elevators reflections make me chubbier, some make me shorter, some make me slimmer, some make me cute. I also make sure to check the opposite of me to know how people see me.

Elevators are mysterious rooms, while many do not have a distinct smell besides old metal, some offer your imagination a relief, even for a few seconds. The smell of bokhoor, the smell of dihn 3ood, the smell of vanilla or strawberry perfumes/cremes, or even the smell of a musky cologne, each of those smells offer us a pass to another world, and sets us imagining the people who wore those smells. Of course some of us have no smell, but maybe that is a gift or a curse. Anyways, each time I smell a lady's perfume or bokhoor, I go on a sensual journey in those few seconds, having devious thoughts about what I would do, esp. mornings, when my sense of smell is at its best. Nothing attracts men more than a lady drenched in good bokhoor.

As I went down on my latest elevator run, I started singing and waiting for my next sniffing escapade.



Purgatorian Post #1184