The note of Photocopier Toner is a fascinating olfactory paradox, presenting as starkly modern yet strangely comforting. It opens with an immediate, sharp burst of ozone, akin to the air after a lightning strike, or the crisp, charged atmosphere around electrical machinery. This initial metallic, almost sterile sharpness quickly softens into a more complex, dry, and slightly acrid warmth. There's a distinct aldehydic shimmer, lending it an ethereal, almost 'clean' quality, yet it carries an underlying powdery dustiness, reminiscent of microscopic carbon particles suspended in the air. Further nuances include a subtle, almost rubbery warmth, a hint of paper pulp, and the ghost of something subtly burnt or toasted, like a document freshly ejected. Its texture is dry and particulate, not smooth or oily. Projection is typically moderate, designed more as an intimate curiosity than a pervasive aura. It behaves predominantly as a top or heart note, offering an initial conceptual shock that then settles into a dry, persistent hum, lending a peculiar 'industrial clean' or 'technological' facet to a composition, with surprising longevity for its character.