Clothes just out of the washing machine

my mother's perfume ; she's always been very elegant and very french, and she wore a lot of flower by kenzo and of opium by ysl. it smelled like the epitome of elegance, poise, and a sort of natural feminity that wasn't curbed, restricted or made to fit in a nice little box. it was the perfume rolling off the throat and bouncing on the skin, hiding in the folds of cloth and carried by the air.

Spray starch, dandruff shampoo, Players Real Red, old wools, an ulcer behind their lip, the old jacket with wonky lining from a wet and windy corner of Wales