Benzen
Benzen – the name sounds like a luxury cologne, but don’t let that fool you. This guy smells like the back corner of a moldy teenage bedroom where old pizza boxes go to die. Imagine the dampness of a forgotten towel that’s been sitting in the laundry basket for three weeks, mixed with that weird sour smell of gym socks that should’ve been burned years ago. Every step he takes leaves behind the faint aroma of regret and expired Lynx Africa. If you’re within a 5-meter radius, your nose files for workers’ compensation. His bedroom? A biohazard zone. Mold growing on mold, with a bed that smells like it’s been marinating in teenage despair. When Benzen walks in, air fresheners pack their bags and leave
Bro, don’t sit next to Benzen—his room smells like a moldy teenage bedroom, and he walks around like a biohazard on legs; even air fresheners quit when he shows up.
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