: "Scent of a Hustler"
It began with a sneeze.
Not Zoe's. Not even Sir Squawksalot's. No—this particular sneeze came from Pauline's nose and launched her into a full-blown existential spiral about indoor air quality.
"Something in this house is toxic," she announced dramatically, dabbing her nose with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. "And no, it's not my attitude."
Zoe, who had just sat down to edit a video titled "Affordable Tech For People Who Are Tired of Being Broke", sighed. "You used an entire can of cinnamon air freshener. Of course your sinuses are protesting."
Pauline ignored her. "I need a cleansing. A detox. An aromatic rebirth."
And just like that, Zoe's home became a laboratory for essential oils.
---
By the end of the day, Pauline had turned the kitchen into a distillery. There were mason jars, plant clippings, and a suspicious bubbling concoction Zoe was 90% sure was just boiled rosemary and hope.
The next morning, Zoe woke up to find a small amber bottle labeled "Clarity & Clapback" on her pillow.
"What is this?" she mumbled.
"Your personal blend," Pauline said brightly. "Lavender, mint, and a single tear I shed while watching Oprah interviews."
Zoe blinked. "You're making oils now?"
"No, darling. I'm launching a lifestyle movement. Behold: @OiledAndBlessed."
---
Pauline's Instagram exploded faster than Zoe expected. She posted aesthetic flat-lays of her oils with captions like:
"Got drama? Try eucalyptus."
"Don't sage it—soak it."
"I'm not mad, I'm marjoram."
She even posted a Reel of herself dancing to amapiano while diffusing peppermint in slow motion.
But the real chaos came when she offered to "enhance" Zoe's filming space.
Zoe returned home to find her ring light surrounded by candles, crystals, and what appeared to be a basil leaf crucifix.
Sir Squawksalot was lying on his back in a daze. "Too much thyme," he croaked.
---
Zoe tried to film a tech review, but halfway through, she broke into a coughing fit.
The diffuser was blasting "Focus Oil #3: Alert & Anointed" straight into her face. Her eyes watered. Her voice cracked.
"I can't do this," she rasped, flailing at the mist like it was bees.
"Power through!" Pauline shouted from the hallway. "That's your throat chakra releasing capitalism!"
Zoe slammed her laptop shut. "This house smells like a forest fire and a herbalist's divorce."
"Exactly!" Pauline beamed. "Healing has arrived."
---
Later that week, the neighbors began to complain.
Mr. Kibet from 4B knocked on the door, holding a clothes peg over his nose. "Excuse me, but my curtains now smell like sage and regret. Are you conducting rituals in here?"
Pauline handed him a tiny sample vial labeled "Reconciliation Blend" and whispered, "Sniff this and call your mother."
He took it. He hasn't complained since.
Zoe just sighed, sat on the couch, and muttered to Sir Squawksalot, "I live in an Etsy fever dream."
He sneezed again. "We all do."