Mr. Oud has been here.
It’s in the air, but it won’t be for long.
The faintest detection of those golden threads of oud.
That little bit of bad in the heart of an agarwood tree, that little bit of danger in a night that might otherwise have gone off without a hitch.
A bit of mood music to set the scene, courtesy of Angelo Badalamenti. Noirish if ever there was such a thing as noir. Walking with fire…
Mr. Oud vanishes behind a cloud of smoke.
If he was ever there in the first place.
Scents have often proved misleading, no matter how liberally-perfumed the object of your search may be.
Such an impressive feat, to vanish like that.
To simply drop off the radar and disappear.
Mr. Oud is most adept at the vanishing act, and an act is all it’s ever been.
