wrinkle spray

The people (and I do mean four or five people) who used to live in this apartment left everything behind when they moved out.

So I kept their cleaning supplies.

These cleaning supplies were put into utility by me (over the year and x amount of months I've lived here) on a desperate-need basis.

Because I hate Fabreeze and its ilk.

Still, a particular product stood out. And not even remotely for its utility.

I'll explain.

It's this something that's meant to "release" wrinkles, which - although it sounds lazy, and is lazy, smells incredible.

And now, it's scent sends me back in time. I'm sentimental about this scent.

Which is funny because I haven't lived here more than a year (and a half) if that (not a very long time) and I admit (I really don't know how long I've lived here) it feels like forever.

I'm starting to believe that time is elliptical.

It's called rain. This wrinkle spray.

It's a product from another land that is neither Chicago or America.

I'm sure there is a counterpart called sun.

And I'm sure sun smells like oranges.

But Rain is not sun.

Rain is a dark, gloomy, defiantly unhappy blend of white musk and black pepper.

That's my take.

A rainy day spray. For un-sunny days.

That removes wrinkles. Without an iron..

Victoria lives in Chicago and writes in her blog occasionally.