The lavender man had a shabby wide brimmed hat, dirty earthy brown, dusty coloured with age. His dark blue pants and his button down jacket were equally worn through. From the countryside, not from the city of Paris, screamed his clothes.

His lanky frame looked out of place on the métro platform. And he stank. Of lavender. Or rather, the huge crop of lavender bush on his arms envelopped him entirely, and as its perfume aired throughout the train carriage, heads turned in surprise to peer at the powerful violet bush at his feet.