As I strolled in downtown Seattle at Christmastime, the cold, moist air was scented with pungent whiffs of “fragrance” — a fragrance I would buy if it came in a bottle. No, I wasn’t smelling snickerdoodles baking in ovens, espresso, chocolate or evergreen trees; all around me floated the scents of thousands of sweet box flowers, horse sweat and…yes…horse merde. A mounted police officer’s horse relieved herself right next to the blossoming plants and created a superb floral musk bomb. (Parfum d’Empire: get on the case!) While relishing this “street accord” I thought to myself: “How many people would enjoy this scent as much as I do?” Maybe you have to come from horse-loving, plant-loving Virginia? Or England? Or just notice the floral notes in horse manure and the fecal facets of certain flowers?