My Bamboo bike , not yet to have own nickname parked in the cafe under the supervision of the parking attendant without bill me for the parking fee, into the electronic atmosphere of the cafe filled with the patrons,every tables they scrolled their eyes on their treasure portable computers,every faces touched by the glaring blueish screens like as if the blue-tongue lizards await for next service. Scooped the last bit of cappuccino’s spicy frothed foam with teaspoon and departed the cafe to collect the greenie’s bike. My nostril admitted the Phnom Penh’s air to my lungs and the smell to the nerves which controls and identifies the vaporised gases. I suspected the highly perfumed gas which feed my nerve that a lady with the spraying top secret recipe perfume on her face or shoulder has passing the cafe a minutes ago. Toward to the edge of street for any sight of a perfumed person. Only a foot away, my nostril picked the correct gas and I noticed the tiny flower buds into the bamboo thin stick with atop of red flower petals poked into the cavity wall of cemented footpath. The buds are from Jasmine, the bushes blossoming their pearly colored petals ,every day all year,a living and blessed jasmine,the fragrant flower.Jasmine commading the streets as the vendors selling the highly sweet smell buds weaves the buds into bracelets as good luck the Buddhism way. I shoved the industrial waste, the cigarettes butts away from the jasmine tower, let Jasmine meditated the street and people with any class.