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Summary
Max has nothing against papaya. The scent of papaya is fine. It’s a fine smell that’s okay and inoffensive, and it’s fine.
It’s just not Lando.
Lando is supposed to smell like warm milk and freshly baked cookies.
But nooooooo. He has to wear those stupid fucking papaya scent patches provided to him by his team everywhere he goes: the track, the club, the ski lodge, the gym, the Quadrant shoots, the hotel room, and apparently inside of his own fucking home.
Ch-ch.
“Mate, can you believe that the showers at the fucking gym are broken? And I sweat through my patches.”
Yeah. Max can tell.
