The scent that dress up your body

Today’s morning finds me running on empty roads with music playing the speakers... just me, her, the car and Timberlake repeating obsessively this chorus:

Hop in the car and go with me
You don't have to pack everything
Don't you wanna feel the breeze?
And forget everything, baby…

Our bodies quiver of freedom. Besides bones, meat, skin, hair and nails, we were perfume. Fine afternoon perfume that flood your senses and doesn’t let you forget how sweet can be this pain. Behind us: just the dust. In front of us: only opportunities. She, with the hair disheveled, tore her clothes with only a barbarian lust to pull bathed in this perfect scent. I, probably depressed, brake suddenly at the red light realizing that I was stolen, for a moment, by a billboard bordering the intersection. With a slogan slightly spicy: the scent that dress up your body!

And I used to wonder about the cause of the excessive number of accidents on the roads of my city [but not all of them caused by yours truly]. Is it the fault of imagination which, in free rein, began romping chaotically?