Some injudicious thoughts about this city. Nothing else can be written. I perch in my flat on top of the Square and it is time, the time is 3 a.m. wreathed in Happy by Clinique For Men from Farmers in the Plaza. I lurk in the mirrored department of luxury and when the girls go off to mend their hair and drink tea I spray at random. I love perfume but don’t want to smell the same night after night as the bed warms. The gay club across the yard has spilled the revellers out into the street. Their music…