The Power of Pong

I spent part of Saturday in the city’s largest independent music store, flipping through racks of cut-price CDs and trying to work out if I could indeed live without ‘A James Brown Christmas’.

At one point I noticed a guy in a grey tank top and shorts walk in. He was tall, reasonably well-built and scruffily good-looking. But in a groovy inner city music store there are a lot of tall, reasonably well-built and scruffily good-looking men wandering about, so I didn’t really give him a second glance… until he passed behind me.

He was still throwing off heat from the very hot day outside, and with it came a heady waft of cologne. It smelt like hot sex and spice, and coming off a carelessly dressed unshaven guy it was as incongruous as finding Bob Dylan dancing in the audience at a Britney Spears concert.

And suddenly it was as if he was the only guy in the store. Without even thinking about it, I found myself browsing the CDs next to him, then virtually chasing him around the premises to catch further draughts of that delicious, sensual scent. When I did catch it, I came very close to purring.

The guy eventually made it out of the store without getting pawed, but only just. Never underestimate the power of a good cologne.