There has never been a more magnificent trunk. Exquisite and imposing: a great mahogany beast in a warm leather film. Accumulated largely in the sinewy crook of the neck and the rich furs between two desert berries is the smell. A man’s filth and a gentleman’s dandy, heady and damp. The hair is course and black, littered with Kurdish-red tendrils. I inhale it, capturing sections of these growths between hungry teeth. When I overindulge and sever hair from leather, he hisses in delight.