Truck stop sleaze. Weedy dandelion and hops with a whiff of tobacco and hemp and a swirl of booziness.
Boy, doesn't that sound enticing? There's no vague aroma of urine and sleazy sex near the lav, though, so I think it's missing an essential note.
Vial: Well, it does indeed smell like dandelions and beer.
Wet: Dandelions! Dandelion wine, maybe even. How summery. (Dandelions are one of the mahy things about civilization that I miss, living in Las Vegas as I do.)
Drydown: It's drying off to BPAL's kind of standard green herbaceous scent on my wrists, although the dandelions are sticking around in my cleavage. (That sentence is just so wrong)
Okay, there's my kind of ragamuffin three-page synopsis written, which mostly boils down to "Here are the characters and the nifty SFnal thing--and then a miracle occurs."
I am so burned out it isn't funny. Hopefully this sad approximation of a proposal will pass muster, and I can go back on vacation until the edits for Carnival arrive. (I think it came out pretty coherent, so I'm hoping they won't be too onerous. And if I can talk my editor into giving me another twenty pages, maybe the ending won't even feel rushed. *g*)