Garage

Cognac and black tea ignite with a sharp metallic bite—like striking steel in a workshop at dawn. The heart shifts into something raw: pine sap mingles with the acrid synthetic twang of plastic and hot iron, while suede and tobacco ground the chaos in leather-worn warmth. Beneath, gasoline and rubber fumes cut through creeping amber and white oud, anchored by cedar and birch tar that smell like scorched wood and asphalt cooling after rain, until leather and tar smoke settle into the drydown.