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Riding the Thermals

Nasomatto China White Review

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The young girl rests her focus on the maroon carpeting on the commuter
ferry to Governor's Island. Her eyes are relaxed far away.
In Hell's Kitchen, the 53 year old petite Hispanic babysitter wears a lavender silk blouse with black polka dots, and a grown out pixie haircut. The young girl embraces her, feeling her bony shoulder blades through the sheer fabric. The girl exhales and her tangled ponytail becomes a still life.
She's somewhere in Georgia during Spring, climbing up onto an enormous
mound of sandy earth. There's a workshop with tires hanging on the walls, particles of dust float in the shaft of light from the doorway, and on the upholstered wicker bench on the enclosed porch, there is a light blue plastic Pegasus with pink and yellow fairy wings, because even though she doesn't know her age, it's her birthday.
Each time she visits this brownstone off Central Park, it is both worn and exquisite: a red carpet on a severely warped staircase... A square shaped Chinese grandmother insists that she eat a warm, skinless pear covered in herbal medicine. The girl promises to eat it, then hides the bowl under the sink in the bathroom. They are both sure of themselves. They go for a walk to the park at sunset so the girl can jump over and over onto her own shadow.
She is now staring out the window of an empty flat in Istanbul in late afternoon in June. The window is open. It feels perfect to be truly alone.

In this fragrance, there is a reflection that renders mirrors obsolete.

Updated 20th January 2013 at 06:29 PM by NeonGrey




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