“The Cocaïne White Alpina, with the (why is it Ox Blood?) Seats (the senses)”

Melvin Lawrence leaned on the front quarter panel, taking a pull from his favorite ‘flavored’ Backwood, of black cherry and vanilla variety, pulling off his favorite pair of vintage aviator sunglasses. The sun shone bright, Melvin feeling like God’s stage light focused in on him. Clouds rolled behind him, moving in at an increased speed. Nothing could mess this day up for him; he looked across the sky, bringing his shades back to his face. Living a dream within a dream.

“Baby,” Dannyn, his ex-wife-turned-best friend, gathered her breasts for a better display. She reaches into her weekend bag and her simply manicured hand comes back with a small green purse, with a gold strap attached; and opens it, giving a light spray to both wrists, then her neck. She calls out to Melvin, again, before spraying her thighs and closing the small purse, dropping it back into place. “Melvin.” Her voice was still sweet, but held the tone of a woman reaching aggravation, as she was hungry.

“Dannyn, can I have a minute? I’m just trying to soak this in,” Melvin leaned into the car with his eyes closed, and Dannyn’s soft lips connected to his. “Still got it.”

“Hush.” Dannyn smiled at Melvin, batting her eyes in a familiar, playful and suggestive fashion. Melvin did his toothpick trick, never taking his eyes from Dannyn as she reclined her seat as far back as she could, pulling her maxi dress up around her thighs.

The wind began to pick up and Melvin climbed inside, exhaling and extending his hand toward Dannyn. She grabbed the cigar with her lips from between his fingers, grabbed his hand and put it between her thighs. His natural reflex made him squeeze. The fancy fragrance began to permeate and swirl around the interior, mixing with black cherry vanilla and lemon haze.