pm clash of the senses

as if to break the monotony of the concocted smell of sweat, fart, halitosis, body odors, imitation perfumes, and other types of smell that would not even pass to the basic general perception of an acceptable odor brewed daily inside the cars of the trains going to hollywood, she drops her scent like bottles of potion with the smell of eucalyptus, rose extract, rosemary, cranberries, vodka and lime that explode on her every step.

her smell dominates the air and creates a temporary atmosphere of tranquility, taking away the day’s stress, giving you a natural high. this lady, crowned with soot-black straight hair that wears the sharp facial features of european women, saves the late afternoon train ride of all the passengers suffering from the soporific air of their routines. a quarter of her ass cheeks wave hello as she walks like a giraffe carefully walking on a models’ runway. she provides minutes of entertainment as her walk magnets attention from almost every passenger; awake and half awake.

madonna’s hard candy album is playing on my ears when i notice the yellow toolbox that she carries with both arms. she looked lean, clothed in those round neck tight shirts paired with low waist jeans that hugs her legs and thighs like skin to bones.
i wonder what perfume she wears. i can close my eyes and still see her image embedded on the fantasy world created by the smell she sends through my olfactory nerves. i could not thank her more.

then i hear a deep voice saying “excuse me!” it was a deep baritone voice fit for a bass singer in a choir. although i don’t even want to bother opening my eyes to locate the owner of the voice that stifles my sensual fantasy, i did. and guess who i found.

the she who enchants that particular car of the train is a he.

i should have just pumped the earphone volume up and head straight to dreamland.

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